


heard me from the horns of unicorns

by hyenateeth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/F, Hopeful Ending, Hunters & Hunting, Lying and Deception, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Unicorns, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7149524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyenateeth/pseuds/hyenateeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do we- God’s wounds, do we even know if there are any anymore? How do we know they’re real?” </p><p>“The unicorns or the virgins?” asked Montparnasse wryly. </p><p>“Either.” </p><p>Grantaire knows there are things she can't do. Fall in love with their virgin, and their only chance of catching a unicorn, is definitely one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First

**Author's Note:**

> General warnings for this fic include violence, homphobia and misogyny (period typical and internalized), animal cruelty mostly in the context of hunting, and some abuse. Also includes a kind of... loose interpretation of time periods. 
> 
> Written for the Les Mis Big Bang, and the longest fic I've ever written! Thanks to [labellelunaclaire](http://labellelunaclaire.tumblr.com) for betaing, and [inkmission](http://inkmission.tumblr.com) for being my artist!

It smelled thick in the back of their caravan, the hot, thick air of the midsummer day hanging heavy, and if it weren’t for the stench, the heat and the rhythmic rocking would have likely lulled Grantaire to sleep. She was tired enough; they had been traveling since daybreak after all, and before that she had barely slept but for a few hours. Sleep would be welcome.

The stench, however, made it impossible. 

“Grantaire,” called a voice from the head of the cart, and a second later Bahorel leaned in through the curtain blocking off the view of the drivers and the horses. “How is our cargo doing?”

“Quiet as death and smells just as bad. Though maybe that’s just his shit – ain’t these things supposed to be holy?”

Bahorel laughed, a deep, warm thing. She couldn’t see him like this, the light from the outside obscured him in the darkness of their covered wagon, but she knows he is smiling. 

“That’s what the church says at least – the Caladrius is like Christ himself or some horseshit. Well – I don’t know if that’s true, but if it’s gonna fetch us a pretty sum you can call me a believer.”

Grantaire snorted. “Easy for you- you’re not having to watch it shit all over our cart.”

She took a glance over at their cargo, lowly illuminated by the open curtain. A large, sleeping bird, big like a hawk but with a longer neck and beak, its feathers a pure, snow white. A Caladrius.

She had seen its picture in the bestiary in the weeks before, when they had been traveling this way in the first place, had run her fingers over the ink drawing of a white bird, and let her eyes run over the Latin description she could only recognize half of; that had been translated for her and that she had memorized: _The Caladrius is said to know when a sick man is dying, as it will not look at him. The Caladrius can also cure the sick man by taking the plague into its own body, and then flying towards the sun. The Caladrius must never be eaten._

Grantaire had expected something more impressive, something beautiful.

Instead, when they had found the bird, in an abandoned, shell of a burned down church in the mountains, it was a quiet, pale thing, with thin feathers and beady eyes. 

It didn’t sing or chirp or caw as they had lured it into a cage with bits of food, and it had not made a peep since. It was odd, and after a week of traveling back the way they had come, Grantaire was finding that she had grown to hate this thing. 

Gritting her teeth, Grantaire braced herself on the wooden wall of the cart, and pushed herself up until she was standing, shaky as the cart rocked.

“I want to switch places with Montparnasse,” she said.

The light from the curtain disappeared, and a second later she heard Bahorel’s booming voice yell, “Oy, Montparnasse! Aire wants to switch with you!”

The cart shook and jolted, horses whinnying as the caravan ground to a halt. 

“God’s nails, she isn’t!” snapped a voice from outside, and Grantaire rolled her eyes, stomping to the back of the cart, pushing back the heavy black curtain that was blocking out the light. 

“Montparnasse, you dog!” she snapped back, even as the light from the outside dazzled her eyes. “I’ve been watching this shit-stinking bird since sunrise - it’s your turn!” 

Her eyes focused, adjusting to the light quickly, and the dark, fuzzy image of Montparnesse molded into something more solid, a young man with his dark hair and sun-browned skin, glaring down at her from his sorrel mare. 

“You’ve been sitting on your ass since sunrise you mean,” snorted Montparnasse, jerking his horse’s reigns in agitation, the beast shifting in response. “And it is barely past noon, regardless.”

“So you should have no problem taking over my duties. I implore you, feel free to sit on your ass some more.”

“Will you to come to an agreement so we can move along?” interrupted Bahorel, stomping from around the front of the covered wagon. “If we make good time we can reach our destination before nightfall – but not if you two hold us up with your bickering.”

“I’m not sitting in that stinking cart-“

“And he accuses me of being lazy, when he probably won’t even clean it when-“ 

“Stop squabbling, both of you,” barked Bahorel. “I’ll watch the damned bird, Grantaire can take my place, or else you two can keep fighting and I can knock both your heads in and let you share the wagon.”

“I don’t care what she does,” snapped Montparnasse, and Grantaire just rolled her shoulders in an acquiescing shrug. 

“We’re agreed then,” grumbled Bahorel, cracking the knuckles on his large, brown hand restlessly. “Go sit with Jehan then.”

Grantaire was pleased enough to jump down and out from the back of the cart as Bahorel climbed in, stretching as she circled over to the front of it to where Jehan was waiting for her, sitting with the reigns of the two horses in his lap, holding a lit pipe he likely had just pulled out in response to their stop.

“Hullo,” he said, smiling at her. “Are you to be the driver’s second now?” 

“Bahorel is an excellent compromiser,” she quipped, climbing up onto the raised seat next to Jehan. “A regular diplomat, I do not know why he is not an ambassador.” 

Jehan chuckled. “A diplomat indeed, with diplomatic fists – as long as you can navigate if I need.”

“I’m your humble servant – I want to get rid of this damn bird as soon as possible.”

Jehan shoved his pipe into his mouth, and picked up the reigns. “Let us away, fair maiden.” He said, around the stem of his pipe. “Into the horizon.”

* * *

Grantaire was hardly a maiden. 

She knew that. She was ugly and scarred, her body stocky and her hands rough, her black hair chopped short to her head. She was not beautiful or fair or gentle or good. 

Which is why she fit in with her little group so well. 

They were an ill-bred little group, mostly half-breeds and bastards, with a particular, but employable, set of skills. They got work, good work, well paying work, where even the highest nobles would be willing to work with scoundrels like them, willing to pay to take advantage of their skills. 

That skill was hunting. 

Well, hunting of a sort. They had a specialization. They left simple things like deer and rabbits to others.

What they hunted was the rare, the arcane, the preternatural. Sometimes for the general good; a few times they had been paid by some town to slay some beast not grand enough for a knight - knights usually did not go for things as unglamorous as a basilisk killing peasant children as much as a dragon killing noble maidens, after all. 

Mostly though, they hunted for menageries; they hunted for the rich. It was lucrative business, like the Caladrius they had in their cart now. Some duke wanted it – maybe to cure an illness, maybe to gawk at and boast – Grantaire didn’t care. She mainly cared how many gold coins they were getting paid.

“Almost in town,” mumbled Jehan through his pipe, still clenched between his teeth as he corrected the horses’ path with a quick tug of the reins. “We’ll just make it before sundown.”

Jehan was an odd fellow – almost skeletal in the face with pockmarked skin and pale lips to match, but he was pleasant and kind, could hold his liquor and had a catching laugh and soft eyes.

More importantly, he was an excellent tracker and naturalist, He had studied under an apothecary when he was younger, a trade he had long since abandoned, but that combined some wild youth traipsing around forests gave him a strong knowledge of herbs and animals, skills that came in handy.

They all had skills. Jehan could track, Bahorel was strong and could wrestle a beast to the ground, Montparnasse was an unholy good marksman with an arrow or dart. It was what made them a good team. Of course they were proficient in everything – Grantaire could track and brawl and shoot an arrow with deft hand and confidence, but what she could really do was trap. 

Traps came natural to her, almost like an art, from her youth of trapping rabbits for meals to now, trapping supposedly holy birds and snarling beasts for the rich and curious. It came easy to her, easy like lying, tricking animals into cages for food or for sport. 

“Oy,” she said, running a hand through short, black curls. “Give me a smoke, will you?”

Jehan nodded before pulling his small, bone pipe out from between his thin lips, thrusting it in her direction without looking at her once. She took it, thankful to draw in the smoke, letting it fill her chest. “We meeting Jondrette at the tavern?” she asked after the drag, smoke billowing out of her nose and mouth.

“Hopefully, if he’s not already in a dead-drunk sleep by now,” said Jehan, not taking his eyes off the road. Grantaire hummed, taking another puff of the pipe. “He said he would meet us in this town, after all.”

Jondrette was their money man – of sorts; a man of many names, and many ties, who found them work when they couldn’t find it themselves. He knew people, and knew the things they wanted in secret. Grantaire didn’t know how he always managed to find some noble with an incomplete menagerie, but he did. 

Perhaps it had to do with the inn he claimed to have once owned, much like the ones he now lived out of, paying day to day for room and board. Perhaps he was just a conman. Grantaire didn’t care, as long as he connected them with the right people when they needed it. She knew little about Jondrette (indeed, that was probably not even his name), but she didn’t need to.

She did not need to trust him either – though she did rely on him for money more often then not. Still. She did not have to trust him.

* * *

The tavern Jondrette was staying at was a rickety, falling down mess of a building, likely infested with criminals, and it was times like this, Grantaire thought as she entered it, flanking Bahorel, that she was glad that she dressed in trousers and kept a dagger at her belt. She was not disguised as a man, not exactly, but she was glad she didn’t wear dresses to places such as these. Men leered at her as it was; at least she rarely had to deal with more than that.

“What a shithole,” she said quietly to Bahorel, peering around the dimly lit tavern for signs of their rendezvous. It had a few men sitting around tables, talking in hushed tones, and one woman who was likely a prostitute, but it was not full, likely not at its peek hours yet, and Jondrette was nowhere to be seen. “With the cut he takes from our rewards you think he’d find better places to stay.” 

“Who knows what he does with the money. I’d rather not actually,” snorted Bahorel, before striding up to the bar where a large woman with greying hair wiped down the bar. 

“How now,” he greeted cheerily. “We are looking for someone – he said he would be staying here. With his family for some time; Jondrette?” 

“Upstairs,” snapped the woman, glancing at them wearily, darting between the two of them. “Third room on the left; I don’t know if he’s home or not. And I don’t tolerate any fighting on the premises, understand?”

“Of course not Madame,” said Bahorel, as cheery as ever. Bahorel was incredibly resilient under the suspicious stares of others. He intimidated people, which was good for them – he was tall and strong, the half-breed son of a Moor, and could beat anyone in hand-to-hand combat. He was kind though, remained kind under other’s assumptions and glares– and Grantaire did not know how he managed. She never had.

They climbed the stairs quickly, and Grantaire already hated this place – it had an odd smell and the stairs creaked, but it was the first real lodging Grantaire had seen in weeks, and her skin felt like it was itching even for the cheapest of real beds. Traipsing through the mountains, looking for a bird in an abandoned church – it made her long for a roof over her head, even one with leaks. 

When they reached the top of the stairs, there was a sudden ruckus, the sound of a woman shouting, and a crash. 

“Think we found him,” mumbled Grantaire as they followed the shouting over to the door the bar matron had indicated. “Think we’re interrupting something.” 

“When are we not?” said Bahorel, before banging on the heavy wood door, the room going hushed as soon as the first knock sounded. 

“Jondrette,” he called, his voice deep and booming. “Its us. We have your delivery.” 

There was a thump from inside, shuffling noises, and then the door was flung open.

“Fellows!” greeted Jondrette, his greying hair disheveled, no coat on and a loose linen shirt hanging around his shoulders. “What excellent time you’ve made – I wasn’t expecting you for another week at least. We really should come up with some code for when you call for me though; we don’t want any prying ears getting wind of our business. You have what I asked for?”

“Outside,” answered Grantaire. “Montparnasse and Jehan are watching it. Perhaps we would not need any codes if we didn’t meet in shitholes.” 

“Excellent,” crowed Jondrette, completely ignoring Grantaire’s second sentence. Then he banged on the doorframe with his fist, turning to call into his room. “Éponine! Get my coat and a lantern, would you?”

A moment later the Jondrette girl came out of the room, obediently holding his woolen mantle and an unlit lantern. Briefly, she locked eyes with Grantaire, but quickly turned back away as her father took his coat, and she busied herself with lighting the lantern. 

“I must see the bird quickly,” Jondrette was saying. “Make sure it’s good- Éponine, hold the lantern for your father. Come on now!”

As he pushed past them, Grantaire briefly glanced over his shoulders into the room. It was a mess, the Jondrette matron sewing on a mess of a bed as if she had not been screaming moments before, a younger daughter next to her, silent as the Caladrius they had in their cart. 

She did not look at them for more than a moment before turning to follow Jondrette back outside.

Outside, the sun had grown low, barely any light so shadows all seems merged together, and Montparnasse, the prick, had finally dismounted from his horse and was holding it by the reigns, feeding it grain from his palm as Jehan patted the two that drew the cart.

“Well now,” announced Jondrette as he strode to them. “Show me this bird – I must inspect it for the customer, make sure it’s the real thing.”

“Hello to you too,” said Jehan, not looking up from the horse, his words overlapping with Montparnasse’s growl of “Have we ever brought you a fake?” 

(They had not – though Grantaire was not sure he would care if they did, as long as the customer still paid for it.) 

“It’s in the back,” directed Bahorel, waving an arm in direction. “It’s caged, but mind its shit.”

Jondrette snatched the lantern out of Éponine’s hand, striding over to the cart and pulling back the curtain to look inside at where the bird was caged, in the contraption they had commissioned from a smith before they caught the creature – a large cage that they suspended from the cart with one chain, and held steady with another hooked to the floor. The old cart was Bahorel’s pride and joy, modified frequently for their jobs, and always overseen but him.

Likely when this job was over scrubbing bird shit out of the cart would be his first priority.

“Excellent,” crowed Jondrette, his face illuminated menacingly by the lantern. “Excellent. And in record time too! Gillenormand is sure to be pleased.” 

“Pleased enough to pay extra?” grumbled Bahorel. It had grown rapidly cold as the sun had gone down, and they all wanted to be inside. Jondrette’s daughter leaned against the side of the cart, arms crossed in an obvious attempt to warm herself.

“Perhaps, if we should be so lucky. We will take it to him when sun rises.”

“When sun rises?” Montparnasse, who had turned his attention back to his horse, turned sharply at this, the horse stomping her fee at the sudden change of mood. “When the sun rises? We have been on the road for weeks old man, surely we deserve some time to rest!”

The three other hunters remained silent, but Grantaire knew they were all feeling the same. Montparnasse knew Jondrette the best, had worked with him before he hunted with them, though none of them knew with what kind of business, so he was most likely to snap at the man. The rest of them weren’t scared of Jondrette in particular but… Well, he earned them money, and they did not need to be scared of him to know he could be dangerous.

Dangerous beasts were something they all knew too well, after all. 

“If you want money we will leave at sun rise, no later!” snarled Jondrette. “Gillenormand is a rich man, who wants this damned bird-“

“I don’t give a shit about Gillenormand! I’ve been wearing the same tunic for weeks!”

“Calm down Montparnasse,” said Jehan, placating, as if he were speaking to one of the horses he was still patting. “We can sleep in the inn for the night at least. And after we are paid-“

“You will have another job. I have secured another commission for you all.” 

“Already?” asked Jehan, finally turning from the horse to look at him in surprise. “What kind of job have you found us so fast?”

“One I can’t tell you about in public, too many prying ears. Now if any of you want to get paid, we’re leaving at sunrise, so you better get your horses resting now. Éponine! We’re going back in!” 

Éponine scrambled after him as he turned to go back in, still hugging herself in obvious cold. He stopped short though turning back to their group.

“Don’t forget to have someone watch the bird out in the stables. I’m sure any number of men would love to get their hands on a Caladrius.”

And then he stormed back inside the inn, his daughter at his heels, and silence fell over the group.

Montparnasse eventually broke it.

“Why can’t he watch the damned bird?”

* * *

Gillenomard’s manor was only half a day away from the town, which made Jondrette’s insistence they leave at dawn all the more frustrating, because it meant they arrived near the height of noon, when Grantaire was beginning to feel sweat dampen her hair and run down the back of her neck in thick rivulets. 

This was the worst part of their job anyway, she thought as she saw the stone manor loom before them. Monsters and beasts and Jondrette were one thing; the rich were something else. Especially for her. 

She felt eyes on her heavy, and often her trousers and her tunic helped, but not like this. Not with noble folk.

All things considered, Grantaire was glad she had never been born noble. There were things expected of Ladies, things Grantaire didn’t think she could ever do or be. She was fine as she was, her hands rough and her hair short.

Still. It did not mean she liked their eyes on her.

The Manor itself was handsome enough, with a sprawling courtyard, which Gillenomard crossed himself to meet them, trailed by two male servants. He was a spry enough looking old man, with white hair but a fine walking pace.

Both she and Jehan jumped from the front of the cart, and while he tended to the horses, she went around to the back of the cart to attend to the damned bird. 

“Look at the old bat,” grumbled Montparnasse as he dismounted from his horse next to where Grantaire busily tied back the curtain to reveal the bird and let Bahorel climb out, speaking to no one in particular. “I wonder if the bird is for him – so he can live forever. Seems like something with more money than he knows to do with would do.”

“Hush,” whispered Grantaire in response, though she did not exactly disagree. “He might hear you.”

“If the old man isn’t deaf. The Caladrius won’t fix old ears, and it won’t fix his wrinkles either. His face is like a mountain range.”

Grantaire stifled a laugh, passing it off a cough. They all had their own damage; their own tragic pasts that they cared not to talk about but manifested itself in visible ways. Everyone had something like that, she supposed. 

Montparnasse’s happened to manifest in the searing contempt he had for rich folks – for those who had things he didn’t. 

She couldn’t blame him.

“Noble hunters,” called the old man as he strode up to them. “You have arrived most expediently!”

Noble. Honestly. She knew what they looked like – sweating and ragged and certainly not noble. 

“Yes, yes, they are noble, aren’t they!” cheered Jondrette, approaching from the back of their caravan, still mounted on a truly pitiful stallion he had rented from the tavern. “The best of their kind – that is why I recommended them to you, Monsieur. True nature’s men, all of them- well, almost all. Connected with nature, you see, it’s how they can work so fast.”

He made a big show of dismounting from the skinny beast, thrusting the reigns in the direction of Jehan thoughtlessly, who scrambled to grab for it while also tending to their two cart drawing horses. 

“Of course,” he continued grandly, straightening his threadbare, finest coat. “They put in special effort for someone with your status. It is no easy task to find what you requested, but they are tireless!”

The shows Jondrette put on for their noble patrons would be funny, if they weren’t so pathetic. 

“And I appreciate it, good sir,” said Gillenomard. “The holy Caladrius is something I am willing to wait many moons for, but I would rather not. Here, let me see the beast!” 

Bahorel, who had been slumping against the cart and wiping sweat from his brow, quickly motioned to Grantaire and Montparnasse, who hurriedly climbed up into the back of their cart, unhooking the chains that kept it steady and lifting it, Bahorel also scrambling in to help, doing most of the lifting himself and they heaved the wrought iron cage out of the cart as Gillenomard and Jondrette came around to them.

Inside the cage the Caladrius shifted, its long neck turning, black eyes peering unblinkingly out, but still it made no noise.

“Look at it! It is glorious!” Fearless, the old man went right up to the cage, peering at the bird. The bird stared back. 

“Glorious,” he repeated, and Grantaire wondered how he could say that about such an ugly beast. “Very good. Shall we bring it inside? Here, let my men get it – the lady needn’t trouble herself.” 

Grantaire very studiously did not react to the comment. It was something she was used to. She did not like it, but she was used to it.

“Yes, yes,” agreed Jondrette, and they handed the cage off to the servants, and Grantaire felt herself smirking when they groaned at the weight – something she had not done. 

“I hope to have this all squared away quickly,” Gillenomard said, turning to the hunters. “With whom shall I discuss payment-“

“Me, Monsieur, just with me!” Jondrette jumped back in front of the man, wringing his hands. “These men, they are not good with numbers after all! They are tradesmen and fine ones at that but know little beyond their trade. I handle their finances, all of them. They are much more comfortable waiting outside – it’s where they are more comfortable you see.”

“In this heat?” growled Bahorel lowly, but neither Gillenomard nor Jondrette seemed to notice him. 

“Well then, Monsiuer Jondrette, come with me! It should only take a moment, I see no reason to stable your horses.”

“Of course sir, they will be fine sir. Allow me a moment to instruct my men, then I can be along.” 

Gillenormard nodded, and as he turned and began to instruct his struggling servant men, Jondrette whipped around. 

“Instruct us?” hissed Bahorel, his voice low, conspiratorial. “We are not your servants.”

“Oh hush. There is a reason I do all the talking you brute. Now, you all wait for me here. I will get us the money- and then once we are away we can discuss your next job.”

“Not before you divide the money,” snapped Grantaire. 

“You will have your gold, wench. Don’t make any trouble.”

Then he was whirling back around, trailing after Gillenomard, calling after him. “Now if we may sir, I was wondering if we could discuss an extra charge for this excellent cage-“ 

And they were left alone. This part was normal. It was rare that the nobles wished to speak to them. They much preferred to gawk. 

“Shall we find some shade while we wait then?” called Jehan from the front of the cart, and they all made a loud, wordless noise of agreement.

* * *

“So Jondrette,” said Bahorel, lighting his pipe. “What is this job you’re so cagey about?”

They were in the forest again, having, on Jondrette’s stern insistence, found some private place between Gillenormard’s manor and the town to be given their gold and discuss this job that had him oh so excited. 

Grantaire cared more about the first part, less for the second. It was still miserable-hot, though the purse of coins she now had on her belt was making her feel some better. 

She would have felt even better if she had got to see Jondrette divide the coins instead of just handing her a purse, but still, the purse was heavy and would buy her wine for months. 

She leaned heavy on a tree, tired, waiting for Jondrette’s story. It would probably not be much – he was probably just trying to build drama, like the shows he put on for their patrons. 

Jondrette rolled his shoulders, leaning against their cart, arms crossed. “Do you know Lord Tholomyes?”

“Never heard of him,” answered Grantaire, as the rest of her party shrugged. “What does the name of some Lord matter?”

“Tholomyes is a man of a great collection, a large menagerie of pretty things, and a larger menagerie of vicious things: hyenas, leopards, basilisks – supposedly he even has them fight for sport, rumor says. Though sometimes the fights are rather unequal.”

Next to her, Jehan made a displeased noise, but said nothing. Beast fighting was an unpleasant hobby enjoyed only by the most eccentric of nobles. It was not their place to judge though. It did not do well to make moral judgments on those who paid, after all.

“It seems he isn’t satisfied anymore,” continued Jondrette. “He wants something rarer, and I managed to get a good word in let him know you’re the hunters he needs.”

“Stop talking around it and tell us what we’re supposed to find,” snapped Montparnasse, running a hand impatiently through his dark hair.

Jondrette rolled his shoulders, looking at the sky for a long moment, and Grantaire wondered if he was trying to build tension. Then he spoke.

“Tholomyes wants a unicorn.”

Silence fell over the group, and Grantaire was certain they all stopped breathing. 

Then Grantaire heard herself yelping, “We cannot do that!”

“Nonsense,” dismissed Jondrette, waving his arm. “I have already told him-“

“You don’t understand!” Grantaire wanted to go over and wring his neck. She settled for wringing her hand through her hair, twisting and pulling it in frustration. “You can’t just trap a unicorn! You can’t even track them! They have no sound and they only leave prints on untainted ground!”

“Not to mention the virgins,” mumbled Jehan, still sounding shocked at the very request. “You need a pure hearted virgin maid to lure a unicorn. Everyone knows that.”

“Exactly!” Grantaire was hearing the franticness in her own voice, and saw the cautious way the men were eyeing her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was a trapper – she knew how to trick any animal cause in the end everything boiled down to certain carnal desires – even the holy Caladrius had been lured with simple food. Everything could be manipulated with basic animal needs, even humans, everything except unicorns. 

“Do we- God’s wounds, do we even know if there are any anymore? How do we know they’re real?” 

“The unicorns or the virgins?” asked Montparnasse wryly. 

“Either,” Bahorel snorted. “Find a virgin, you can find a unicorn – but where the hell are we supposed to get one of those?”

“You whining lot of dogs,” snapped Jondrette. “You’ll find a bloody unicorn – I don’t care if it kills you! Do you know how much money has been promised us if we get one? Enough where we could buy out Gillenomand’s manor if we wished! You’ll find the unicorn, or you can all rot! I’ll never help you lot again.” 

“It’s not that easy!” protested Jehan.

“It’s impossible,” groaned Grantaire. “They don’t exist!”

“You’ll do it, or you’ll die in poverty; back to being useless, ill-bred vagabonds and drunks and deviants with nothing to your names! If you can’t do this, what kind of business do you think you’ll get? What kind of reputation do you think you’ll get if you fail at a job, or back out like cowards? If you all want to die with nothing, not even your reputations, that’s your lot.” 

Silence fell over them again. Grantaire wanted to scream, but she held it tight in the back of her throat, said nothing. 

He was right after all. Without their reputations as fine hunters – without noblemen paying them for their work, they barely had enough to stay afloat. They had been there before, all of them.

“Alright,” said Bahorel finally, straightening his back resolutely. He stared straight ahead, meeting none of their eyes as they all shifted restlessly, like animals in a trap.

“Alright. We’ll hunt a unicorn.”

* * *

Miles away, the Lady Enjolras was sleeping peacefully, in an Arcadian clearing somewhere deep in the woods.

She had been restless all morning, feeling suffocated in her parent’s manor, gloom permeating its walls, so the first chance she got she snuck away. It wasn’t hard, just a manner of sneaking through servant’s quarters in her softest silk slippers so as not make noise, and out into the woods near her father’s land. 

Free from prying eyes, she stripped off layers of clothes until she only wore her thin chemise and her hose, removing her cap and unpinning her curls and letting her blonde hair tumble around her shoulders and down her back. It was improper, she reflected, and her father would probably box her ears if he caught her, and well, he had never caught her, yet. 

So, she had stripped down, tucked her clothes under the raised root of a tree, tied her chemise around her knees so it would not dirty and give her away, and ventured forth. 

The forest was large, sprawling, light and airy in some places, dark and foreboding in others. The servants sometimes spoke of magic in the woods, and she had been told stories of wolves that would eat young ladies who ventured into it – but she had never listened. I was the only place she could escape to. It was not like the manor, all stone walls lit by torches and candles, air thick and stagnant, not a corner or brick she didn’t know. 

She had been exploring this forest, however, whenever she could, for years, and not once had she felt like she knew it all. It had a way of turning one around, making them feel lost, and there was only one place she knew she could always return to and find her way back.

That was her little clearing. 

It was lovely, and had always seemed to be the dearest secret, a place just for her where she felt all her tension bleed away, all soft grass and dappled light. She had impulsively kicked off her slippers when she found it that day, her small, pale feet sinking into the grass.

It was a warm day, even in just her chemise, and Enjolras felt tired from the weighty atmosphere of the manor, still lingering around her person, so as she settled under a large tree at the edge of the clearing, sleep quickly swept over her, her eyes sagging until she drifted away, peaceful and warm.

When her mind returned to her, there was a weight in her lap, warm and heavy, and without thinking about or even opening her eyes she reached out, running her hands over short fur and silken mane, giggling softly when she ran her a hand over the beasts nose and its hot, damp breath tickled her palm. 

Perhaps it was the way slept still clung to her mind, pulling her deeper under with every second. Perhaps it was the warmth. Perhaps it was the forest.

Whatever it was, Enjolras settled back against the tree, never once opening her eyes as she stroked the muzzle and mane of the beast who was resting its head peacefully in her lap, mindlessly running her hands over soft ears and wet nostrils, and the base of a single, straight horn in the middle of its forehead. She simply let herself be lulled back to sleep, her own breath in rhythm with the beast.

It was much later when she awoke again, with a start this time, because the sun was at it’s highest in the sky, large and heavy and now unbearably hot, ready to start its descent at any moment. 

For a moment, Enjolras thought she must have been dreaming. 

Then, as she stood hurriedly, panicked because she had slept so long and surely someone had noticed her leave by now and if they had told the Lord, her father, she-

But she stopped dead as she leaned down to pick up her silk slippers, still where she had discarded them.

Hoof marks – though not normal ones.

Around her makeshift resting place were dainty hoof prints, overgrown instead of imprinted, small flowers where none had been before making the shapes, showing a clear path to and away from her. 

The truth caught in her throat, and she could only whisper the name of what she suddenly knew had visited her. 

_“A unicorn.”_

* * *

“A nun perhaps?” mused Jehan aloud, running his fingers across his chin thoughtfully as he looked at the bestiary in the soft candlelight. “Oh, or a child!”

“Brilliant Jehan, let’s steal a child,” scoffed Montparnasse, taking a swig of his bottle before passing it to Grantaire. They were back in the tavern, in the room they had rented and had been staying there for a week now past the Gillenomard drop off, with its two rickety beds neither big enough for more than one person, that they had been cycling between them. She and Montparnasse sat on the floor, where it was their turns to sleep, and Bahorel and Jehan had a bed each.

They had enough gold to rent their own rooms now, but refrained out of convenience, and uncertainty of how they were going to proceed. If they stayed there much longer though, Grantaire might rent one regardless– she did not mind being the only woman in the group, or sharing spaces with them, but after a time she longed for privacy.

If nothing else, then for sex. It wasn’t as easy as shoving her pants down for 10 minutes behind some building for her. She had not felt another’s touch in months – and it wasn’t important when compared to work but… well. 

She took the bottle and took a heavy swig. “I doubt all nuns work either – not that we could just capture a nun for this wild goose chase anyway. Most of them are peasant girls who could not get married though – doesn’t mean they haven’t been around before that.” 

“We are forgetting one thing,” said Bahorel from his place sitting on the bed. “We have no leads, no clue where to find a unicorn. Even if we did find the proper bait, where would we place it?”

“Forests,” answered Jehan, his voice lilting and as musical as ever as he read from the bestiary. “Ones that crackle with magic, that still have pure, untainted land.”

“No such thing,” grumbled Grantaire, taking a never swig of claret before passing it back to Montparnasse. “Nothing’s pure, not really– not land or maidens.”

There was a long silence in the wake of her comment. Then Montparnasse spoke. 

“Do women like Grantaire count?”

Grantaire expressed her distaste with that comment with a wordless groan, and Jehan added: “Surely not! We all know of her dalliances. Remember when we were hunting the manticore up north?”

(A year and a half ago, when they had been staying in a town for a whole winter hunting a particularly slippery manticore, Grantaire had courted a pretty maiden called Floreal, and had been… perhaps less than discreet. In her defense, she had believed that the rest of them were going to be out of the inn for the whole day. And that was why she preferred to get her own room now.)

“It is not an unreasonable question I suppose,” said Bahorel, shrugging his broad shoulders. “No cock means an intact maidenhead.”

“What does a man know of maidenheads!” snapped Grantaire. “I doubt the beast examines a girl’s cunt, besides. A unicorn would never come to me, if I were the last woman on earth! Give me the bottle back, Montparnasse, I need it to suffer you fools.”

“She is right,” said Jehan. “Our Grand R here does not meet the spirit of the clause, anatomy not standing. And I do imagine the purity is more than a maidenhead – purity from sin, perhaps.”

“And I am sure we will have great luck with that,” snipped Grantaire, nursing the bottle even more moodily now. “We might as well give up now, tell Jondrette to give up on us.” 

Then she set the bottle on the floor, shakily pushing herself up from where she sat. “I need to piss,” she mumbled. “You lot can keep chasing your own tails if you wish.”

She did not actually have to piss, though once the wine hit, who knew. She just wanted fresh air. The rotten smell of the inn had begun to seem normal to her, but she still preferred the outside, where cool night air could hit her face. 

Outside the inn she stretched languidly, the wine making her head pleasantly fuzzy and her muscles feel loose. 

As nice as it was having a bed every other night, staying in towns with the other hunters was always odd. They were all very different people, and in their down time ended up doing very different things. Montparnasse disappeared for days at a time sometimes doing god knows what, but often returning angry and with blood dotting his sleeves, Bahorel often disappeared to secret locations where men fought each other for small sums of money, and Jehan would travel sometimes even days out of the way to find traders from the orient, collecting whatever trinkets and spices and sometimes drugs that caught his fancy. 

Grantaire, mostly, drank.

Certainly she had hobbies as well – but it was often difficult. What with her sex, being what it was. She was not often accepted. But she didn’t let it bother her. 

She did not. 

She began to wander idly, thinking perhaps to check on their horses, when a voice called out to her from the darkness, making her jump. 

“Hey sweetheart, looking for a good time?”

“What- Éponine!”

Cackling, Éponine came out from where she was hiding in the shadow of the building, holding up her plain skirts so they would not drag in the dirt, face in a wicked grin. Her long dark hair was loose around her shoulders, wild and tangled.

“I got you a little, did I? It was quite funny watching you jump like that.” 

“Éponine,” Grantaire scolded. “What are you doing out so late? Surely your father-“

“We both know that my father doesn’t give a damn what I do. But here, why don’t you walk with me – since the night is no time for a lady.”

She locked her arm with Grantaire’s, and unthinkingly the hunter let out a laugh of the how absurd they must look – a peasant girl in her ragged clothes and a crossdressing wild-woman, arm in arm as if they were nobles going to a ball.

Though they did not talk often, Grantaire supposed she was some sort of friends with the Jondrette girl. She was an odd beast of a woman, - one who smoked and drank like a man, much like Grantaire, and she liked to think they were something like kindred spirits. 

“I have not seen you since the night you arrived,” said Éponine as they began to walk together. “I thought perhaps you were avoiding me.” 

“No, simply locked up trying to figure out this fool’s errand your father has given us.”

“Ah. Father will not tell me what kind of job you have now. Says it’s a grave secret.”

“You’re seeking – but I won’t tell you. It’s too stupid not to be a secret.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, my R. Surely you know I can keep a secret. I can tell you secrets too though, in exchange if you like. I have a new friend – one who tells me of the life of nobles. Perhaps something I have been told will help you.”

“This is why I cannot tell you – you would surely just use it as a bargaining chip somewhere else. I do not blame you – you are no fool ‘Ponine, but neither am I.”

“It must be some very hefty reward if it has you this hushed up. Come now – don’t you trust me? You know us ladies – we can keep each other’s secrets.” 

She hugged Grantaire’s arm tighter as she said it, her breasts pressing against it. Grantaire knew what she was implying of course – she had made a show once of courting Éponine and Éponine had made a show of reciprocating, even though they both knew nothing would come of it. 

It had hardly been a love affair, and had not lasted long, but it had remained a furtive secret between them. A few kisses, hidden behind stables and in alleys meant little, yet had to remain a secret from her boss and Éponine’s father, even though he knew of much more serious dalliances she had had with men. 

“This is hardly the same,” she chuckled. “But I am convinced. It is not like how many people I tell will make this fool errand any more or less impossible. Here.” 

They had reached the edge of the stables by now in their walking, and Grantaire grabbed Éponine’s arms, pulling her behind it, to the back where people rarely went. She could kiss her again, she briefly thought. No one would see them – but no. 

“Alright,” she said, still gripping Éponine’s shoulders. “You must not laugh.”

“I will pretend it is a funeral.” 

“See that you do.” Regardless, Grantaire rolled her shoulders, readying herself for laughter.

“Your fool of a father apparently met with some noble… who said he would pay us more than our weight in gold if we could procure him a unicorn.”

The laughter did not come.

“A unicorn you say?” said Éponine, voice sounding somewhat awed, somewhat thoughtful. It was not the disbelief Grantaire had been expecting, that she had reacted with.

“Ay. Impossible really – you need to find a unicorn, and when is the last time you heard of a unicorn showing itself, and then you need to find a virgin maid and-“

“I have heard of a unicorn showing itself.”

Grantaire froze. “What?”

Éponine grabbed her sleeves, eyes wide with manic excitement. “I have. I’ve heard of it. A unicorn.” 

Despite everything, despite that the news should bring her joy, Grantaire felt her heart sink.

So this was happening after all.


	2. The Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some more allusions to abuse and a brief masturbation scene.

The Enjolras Manor was large and looming over the town, closer to a castle than anything, all stone keeps and fortified walls. To its west laid the town - bigger than where they had met Jondrette - and further west laid farmland. To its east laid the forest. 

Even as they unloaded their belongings into the inn, it loomed, and Grantaire stared up at it, a feeling of unease in her chest. 

“That is where we’re going to find our Virgin Mary?” asked Montparnasse from behind Grantaire.

“So says Éponine,” she murmured, tearing her eyes away from the large manor. “Or rather, so says her loose lipped friend.”

“You don’t believe this, do you?” asked Montparnasse, his voice low as if he hoped not to be heard. “A pure hearted noble girl. It's romantic enough for Prouvaire and Bahorel, but I don’t believe in pleasant lies.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is this is all we have.” She did not look away from the manor. In there was their only hope, their only lead, some girl that all the Lords and Ladies in the kingdom were talking about. 

Some girl who claimed she had seen a unicorn. 

It did not feel real. 

It hadn’t felt real some three weeks ago either, when Éponine had sat on their bed, not flinching under the four sets of eyes, all locked on her. 

“A noble girl?” Jehan had clarified, his pipe hovering by his lips, lit but nervously not smoking it. 

“Yes. It’s excellent gossip right now throughout the kingdom, among rich folk at least. Her father is some important lord I suppose – and now everyone thinks she’s mad.”

“And how do you know what nobles gossip about?” sneered Montparnasse. “You are no richer than we. Or are you sarding nobles for information now?”

“Leave her alone, Montparnasse,” Grantaire had snapped, though she knew Éponine did not need her defending. Rather, she did not want Montparnasse derailing this into an argument, like he was ought to do. “She’s already helped us more then you have.” 

“We don’t even know who told her this,” he countered, hackles raised like he was a tomcat.

“Never you mind that,” Éponine had snapped immediately. “You can act off my information or not, I don’t care either way.”

“How do we know she’s not lying? How do we know whoever told her isn’t lying? How do we know this noble girl isn’t lying?”

“No way of knowing without finding her,” murmured Jehan, his pipe still untouched. “It seems possible though. Of course, dealing with nobles is its own challenge.”

Bahorel had been uncharacteristically silent since Grantaire had pulled Éponine into their room, simply watching, and it was only then that he spoke up, his voice deep and booming over the room.

“All you fools are balking at this opportunity that has fallen in our laps! What kind of hunters are you? Éponine, tell me, what is this girl’s name?”

“Enjolras, if I recall. Marie Enjolras.”

Marie Enjolras. 

That was the name that had brought them all the way across a kingdom.

* * *

The Enjolras patron was an aging man, with silver hair and a sharp face and hard eyes, not large, but intimidating all the same. 

“You may not speak with my daughter,” he said firmly. “Certainly not alone. A group of ruffians only have bad intentions, I imagine.”

Bahorel cleared his throat nervously. Lord Enjolras had agreed to meet with them, and now they sat at a large, sprawling table, the Lord at the head and his wife to his side, being stared down in a way that was frankly painful. 

“Lord Enjolras,” began Bahorel carefully. “We have no ill will towards your daughter. We are simply here to-“

“You are here because of her lies, I know. Trust me though, there is no truth to what she says.”

“Not to offend sir,” interrupted Jehan, wringing his hands underneath the table where only Grantaire could see. Jehan was a good speaker, if sometimes nervous. He knew his way around rich folks at least. He was no Jondrette, but he often would do “It is possible she isn’t. We are expects on the matter, and if you just give us some time alone with her we can-“

“And why should I?”

They had not planned this out as well as they could have. They would have to find a new virgin at this rate. Suddenly kidnapping a nun didn’t sound like such a bad plan to Grantaire. 

“It will likely be most advantageous, financially speaking, not to mention status, but before we speak on it further we must speak to your daughter alone, without influence. We can figure out whether or not she is lying if you just-“

“There is no way I am going to leave my daughter alone with three men. What about that one, though?”

It took Grantaire a moment to realize she was being pointed at. “What?”

“She is a woman, isn’t she?”

Grantaire simply blinked owlishly at the man, as Jehan, thrown, stammered. “Well, yes, she is a woman.”

“An odd one then – never once have I seen a woman dressed like her. I would never let one of my servants dress like her, certainly. Inappropriate really, but I suppose she must have her uses.”

_He thought Grantaire was a servant._ Instantly her face was burning, a mix of anger and embarrassment taking over her. He thought she was a servant, and he was speaking about her like she couldn’t hear him, like she was too stupid to understand what they were saying. 

The, the next sentence that came out of his mouth was: “I suppose she may see her.”

“Really?” asked Jehan, his voice breaking.

“Female servants may visit my daughter, but never the male ones. It is too… risky. I still wish to marry her one day after all. She may see her, only for a short while, and you three can tell me why I should entertain your presence. This is the only offer I will make.”

The four blinked at the man. Then Bahorel was standing. 

“Well then, Grantaire, you heard the man. Go immediately! Go, we don’t have all day, don’t waste the kind Sir’s time!”

Grantaire gaped at Bahorel. He winked at her.

“My servant girl can lead her too her. Where is Marie today anyway?”

“The study, working on her sewing,” answered the man’s wife quickly. It was the first time they had heard her spoke.

“Very well. She may go, and you three can tell me more about how you can improve my status, if you are not all liars. “

The servant girl who had been hovering in the room was next to Grantaire’s chair suddenly, and not knowing what to do, Grantaire stood. She did not want to do this alone. She could not do this alone.

Grantaire looked back at her companions desperately, but they offered no help, except for an encouraging smile from Jehan. Well. She was doing this alone then.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned back to servant and nodded her head awkwardly. “If the Lady will see me then.”

The bowels of the manor felt in many ways like being in the belly of a beast, she mused as the servant woman led her inside. It was dark, without near enough torches in her opinion, full of winding halls that were sparsely decorated with hanging tapestries depicting images of knights on noble quests. 

“The young Lady should be sewing in the study at this time of day, per her mother’s request,” the servant told her as she led her along briskly, not pausing or even seeming to notice the way Grantaire kept trying to stop and look at the tapestries, then hurrying to catch back up with her. She talked like she walked, brisk and purposeful. “The Lady of the manor insists refocusing her on her embroidery will help her. She hates it of course. You will have a time getting anything out of her – she’s been a regular snake after this whole business with her getting caught sneaking out, snapping at everyone and everything. Not that I blame her mind you. Her father – well, the less I say about the Lord the better.”

The less said indeed. Grantaire would not even touch that, best to keep it on the girl. “The young Lady is unpleasant then?”

“Hah! Now that is a question, ain’t it? You’ll see I suppose, but she is… abrasive, I suppose is an alright word. She has her charms though. Ah, here we are now.”

They had reached a set of sturdy wooden doors, and the small woman shoved her entire body against it to shove them open. As Grantaire followed her into the room she found herself blinking. There was a window in this room, she observed immediately, the dark, plush curtain drawn back to let in the sun. It was so much brighter then the gloomy hallways it took her eyes a second to adjust, to refocus on the chair in front of the window, and in that chair-

Well. That was what the woman had meant by charm then was it?

The Lady Enjolras could have stepped out one of the tapestries Grantaire had passed, and if someone had told Grantaire the girl was a princess, she would have believed them. Her skin was white like cream, except where it flushed perfectly rosy, and her hair was the color of gold leaf, stylishly pinned up and underneath a lovely cap. 

She was the most beautiful, delicate looking thing Grantaire had ever seen.

There was no way she was a virgin. She looked pure, certainly, but there was no way. It would be too perfect – and there was no way someone hadn’t already fallen for someone who looked like that.

“My embroidery is going fine mother,” she called out from where her head was bent over her work, and her voice was clear and strong. “Here, see I’m-oh. It’s just you Musichetta. Who is this?” 

She stopped whatever fumbling she was doing the instant she looked up, and even from across the room Grantaire was stuck with the color of her eyes – a deep, rich blue. The color of heaven. 

_Wounds, what a stupid thing to think._

“My lady,” chided the servant, Musichetta. “I don’t believe you have sewn a stitch since I left you here. Nevermind though – your father has arranged a meeting for you and I am sure you will use that as an excuse for why you haven’t got anything done.”

The girl was staring at Grantaire intensely, sweeping up and down with her eyes, and Grantaire set her mouth in a wry smile. She felt ridiculous in front of this maid, but she swallowed the feeling. She knew what she looked like, she knew to expect stares. 

“What kind of meeting?” she asked, not taking her eyes of Grantaire, and she was suddenly unsure if the question was directed toward her or Musichetta. 

Musichetta seemed to have no such uncertainty. 

“It is about your… incident. In the woods.”

Suddenly the girl’s whole demeanor changed. Her eyes widened and she stiffened, glancing nervously between the two women in front of her, and her hands clenched over her embroidery in her lap. 

“What of it?” she asked, her voice suddenly cold and unyielding. Well then. Musichetta had also not been wrong about this girl being like a snake ready to strike. 

That said, this time it was clearly Grantaire’s turn to answer. She cleared her throat, once again nervously squaring her shoulders. 

“My Lady Enjolras,” she began carefully, her speech sounding stilted and awkward to her own ears. “My companions and I have come seeking your counsel. Your father has granted me permission to talk to you in private. We are… naturalists of sorts. I simply wish to talk, about your experience in the forest.”

“You mean about the unicorn,” snapped the girl, cutting straight to the heart of it. 

“I’ll leave you two alone then!” Musichetta seemed all too ready to leave, and already, Grantaire didn’t blame her. “I will be outside when you are done – call if you need anything, my Lady.”

Enjolras, for her part, seemed past noticing Musichetta, her gaze held firmly on Grantaire now, and as much as Grantaire wanted to look away, she was transfixed. She was to remain stuck like this, it seemed, her standing while Enjolras sat, both of them on edge, neither willing to budge.

“Yes,” she answered as Musichetta hurried out of the room, the heavy door thudding behind her, all nerves. “I am here about the unicorn.”

“You think I’m lying,” snapped Enjolras, nervously clenching and unclenching her fists. What a peculiar tick – one Grantaire frequently saw in men when cornered – balling their fists, weighing their options and seeing where fighting their way out fell. How peculiar that Enjolras seemed to share this – if she were an animal she would no doubt be bearing her teeth right now. “You don’t need to say it – everyone does. I am either a liar or I am insane, either way I am not telling the truth.”

“I haven’t decided if you are lying or not yet,” answered Grantaire, only half honest. “I would not have come as far as I did to meet with a liar, would I?”

“And how far did you come? Where is it, that ladies dress like you?”

The question caught Grantaire so off guard she laughed aloud, and the girl jumped in her seat slightly at the noise, blinking rapidly in surprise.

“Is that what has you so distressed, my lady? My trousers? I would have worn a dress but I am afraid I don’t own one, so you’ll have to forgive me.”

“I am not distressed! I have simply never seen-“

“In my line of work dresses would do me no good.”

“And what is your line of work then? Naturalist – that is a lie if I have ever heard one. Are you here to prove I’m mad? Or maybe you’re some foul hunter who wants bait to catch a unicorn, or to kill it.”

There was a trick, to lying to people when they had already guessed the truth. She had done it many times, more times then she cared to admit. She was good at lying; as good as she was at trapping. 

“So you don’t trust me,” she sighed, putting on an air of disappointment at the thought. Her mind was racing, searching for a reason this girl should trust her.

“What reason should I have to trust you? I don’t even know your name, or why you want to meet with me!”

“It’s Grantaire.”

“Grantaire! Well then, Grantaire, tell me why you’re here!”

She looked concerned, rubbing her face, thinking of the tapestries out in the hall, the ones littered with fairy tales. She thought about the girl’s father, and his stern, frightening demeanor. 

She thought of a girl, locked in a tower, sneaking out to romp in the forest. 

She looked up very seriously from her hands. “You mustn’t tell anyone, if I tell you. Especially not your father.”

Almost imperceptibly, the girl’s expression shifted. That was good then was it? Appeal to her want, her need to rebel against her strict father. She had gauged this right.

Enjolras had taken the bait.

“If I can trust you,” she said carefully. It was as good as a yes. 

“Can I trust you though? No one can find out who we really are. It’s very important. You understand don’t you Enjolras? I need to know you’re not lying.”

Enjolras was scowling, and her lips were so beautiful, red and full. It almost hid her white teeth behind them, clenched, ready to be bared, ready to bite. “So you do think I’m lying.”

“That makes two of us,” she snapped harshly. “Tell me Enjolras, how can we establish some trust between us?”

Grantaire was aware of the change that had come over her. She no longer sounded awkward, no longer seemed nervous. It was a lie of course, but if she was doing this right Enjolras would think it was the other way around, that this was her true demeanor. 

Enjolras, for her part, was very easy to read. She was a snake all right, coiled and ready to strike, but it was all fear. It was all fear – and Grantaire was not afraid of snakes. 

She was stupid like that. 

“So, how about this, Lady Enjolras,” she began, moving for the first time, carefully walking around the seated girl, leaving her a wide berth as she moved around her and ignoring the blue eyes boring into her as she positioned herself by the window. “Lets start with an easy question, one woman to another. Are you a virgin?” 

To her credit, Enjolras did not shy away from the question, did not hide her face or flinch away, though if her cheeks grew a bit pinker than before Grantaire would not mention it. “Yes,” she answered firmly, with no hesitation.

“But how am I to know that? I told you, we haven’t established any trust. How can I know that you are speaking true?”

“I am unmarried-“

“As am I, but I am no virgin.” Enjolras’ cheeks flushed even more, but she still did not look down. Grantaire continued. “Besides, it would be a lovely lie, would it not? Any question about your chastity, and ‘no no, she’s seen a unicorn, it can’t be true!’ You could sard any stable boy or gardener, take any lover you wanted, and still be the Virgin Mary-”

“Shut your mouth! I will have you thrown out of here! ” The girl was on her feet suddenly, having sprung out of her chair, her embroidery hoop clattering to the floor, fists clenched and eyes wild. “Why did you ask me if you are so determined to disbelieve me?”

“You misunderstand My Lady. I don’t want you to just say you’re a virgin. I want you to convince me.” 

“And pray tell, how am I meant to do that? No one believes me anyway – why would I continue the lie if everyone calls me mad!”

“Better mad then a whore.” 

“Have you ever been called mad? Besides, Father already thinks I-”

She cut herself off abruptly, and a degree of fire seemed to leave her as she bit her tongue. 

There it was.

“Your father?” she prompted gently, as the girl, slowly, slowly, sank back into her chair. 

There was a long silence where Enjolras lowered her eyes for the first time in their conversation, and when she spoke again, her voice was so much smaller, softer then before, and she seemed so much younger. 

“Father says it was a mistake that to wait so long to marry me off- that no one respectable will want me now. If I weren’t his only child, I’m sure he would send me to the convent.”

“He said that to you?”

“Not to me- to my mother. I overheard them once, when I was meant to be sewing. They forget I can hear them sometimes, I think. And… I had a friend once, a servant boy named Feuilly, who was about my age. He would help me sneak out sometimes- though Father never knew that! But once he caught us sneaking about and I think he thought we… But I never have! I did not love Feuilly in that manner and I don’t believe he loved me that way either. I didn’t even consider it! But he threw Feuilly out and boxed my ears even though I swore nothing happened. Some time later he said he believed me- but I know he lied.” 

Her voice trembled as she reached the end of her story, and she did not seem so much like a snake now. Not a snake- just a girl. 

Grantaire suddenly felt very sorry for her, and very poorly about the way she had pressed her. She had met her father, just like the rest of them, she had heard how he spoke of his daughter, and she should not have replicated that.

Not that she could apologize this late into her ruse. But still. 

“So that is why he doesn’t believe you.”

“I suppose not.” The girl’s voice was thick. Grantaire hoped she wouldn’t cry. She was not good when people cried. 

“And I suppose that’s why only I was allowed to be alone with you.”

“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat and looking up again. There were no tears in her eyes, but they were clouded. “That is his rule. Though I am surprised he let a woman such as you see me. I would expect him to be worried you might influence me.”

She barked another laugh at that, and Enjolras almost smiled this time instead of jumping. “If only he knew, My Lady.”

Enjolras gave her an odd look at that, and Grantaire knew she didn’t quite grasp what she meant. It didn’t matter. Of course this girl didn’t know what she meant- all for the better anyway. 

“It is your turn now,” said Enjolras, voice firm again. “I have told you the truth, and you believe me now?”

“I believe you.”

“Then it is your turn. Why are you here?”

Despite herself, she hesitated. The girl had been honest, and it felt terribly unkind to lie to her.

But Grantaire was not kind. And she needed this job- now more then ever, when it really seemed like the girl may have really been telling the truth.

She needed to, she really did. It was not anything personal.

“And you swear not to tell your father, or anyone?” she prompted, approaching the girls chair. This was the closest she had gotten to her this whole time, and she felt like she was crossing some kind of unspoken barrier, like she was transgressing. 

She transgressed. 

“I swear,” answered Enjolras, her voice dropped low, almost a whisper, and Grantaire felt her skin go gooseflesh at how close she was to this girl. 

She leaned in further. 

“Alright Enjolras. I trust you. I’ll tell you the truth.”

* * *

“Let me get this right then,” drawled Montparnasse, leaning heavy against a tree, arms crossed. “You told her we are some noble bandits – stealing from the rich to give to the poor and so on and so forth.”

“Aye,” grumbled Grantaire, shoving tobacco into a pipe, not looking at the expression on Montparnasse’s face. 

“And that _you_ are the leader, you are Robin Hood and we your Merry Men.”

“I did.”

“And then, to top it off, you added in some sob story about why we need, what was it, hair from the unicorn, to cure some fatally ill maid? Why not make it tears- if you were already spewing shit out your mouth.”

“I thought you would approve since you do it every damned day. I was in there alone – excuse me for improvising.”

It had been a half formed plan in her mind – but one that had worked. The girl had fell for it – and Grantaire supposed her look was just rebellious enough to sell it. A girl locked away in a dim manor, oppressed by her father and reared on fairy tales about heroes – it all worked in her favor. 

“What was she like,” pressed Jehan, giddiness evident in his voice. He was utterly pleased by the story Grantaire had spun, though he was trying to act like he wasn’t. “I was asking a servant about her, but he would not say much.” 

“She is… peculiar. She is very beautiful to be sure, almost unnaturally so. Blonde and blue eyed, with a very pale face and red lips. She was fierce though, choleric, and with a sharp tongue.”

“Is her sharp tongue enough to ward off her suitors, do you suppose?” asked Bahorel, stroking his beard. “If she is so beautiful, why is she still a virgin?”

It seemed wrong, Grantaire mused, to share the story Enjolras had told her, the one that had nearly brought her to tears. Of course, she shouldn’t hesitate so, no need to keep this girl’s secrets for her, but-

“The overbearing nature of her father has made her sharp and prone to lashing out. With the slightest provocation she snaps like a cornered animal- to ward off any that would test her virtue I suppose. Besides that though, she seems quite naïve, and her naivety brings a sort of honesty. I do think she is a virgin.”

It wasn’t a lie. The details with her father and the servant were just not relevant to the job. That was all.

Montparnasse laughed out loud. “Do you think it is only her mouth that snaps? Maybe she is one of those maids you hear about, with teeth in her quiver, ay?”

“That is untrue and you know it Mont’,” answered Bahorel. “Or else you would have gotten your dick bit off years ago.”

“These uptight noble maids are different, you know? When they aren’t spreading their legs for the whole kingdom.”

“Stop being disgusting, Montparnasse!” snapped Grantaire. 

“Why so defensive, Grantaire? You know what noble bitches are like.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or is this girl such a powerful beauty that you’ve already fallen for her?”

Grantaire was glad for the warmth, because there was little chance Montparnasse would be able to tell that her face flushed with anger at that comment, with it already being flushed from heat. 

“No, I just think that if we are going to work with this girl for God knows how long until we find this bleeding unicorn and get our bleeding fortunes, we need to be able to actually work with her. Surely you can set your personal grudges for that, Montparnasse?” 

“She is right,” interrupted Jehan as Montparnasse shot her a deadly glare, his dreamy voice diffusing the argument. “And this is good news! If she is a virgin, then her story is likely true.”

“Unless she is mad,” said Bahorel. “Mad, or mistaken.”

“She did not seem mad. No madder than I, I think.” Grantaire shrugged. “It is a start, if anything. But we need to search the forest, try and find this secret grove she claims exists. Tell me now, what did you tell her father? He seemed to want none of our business, and that will be a problem should we find ourselves actually needing her.”

“The truth,” answered Bahorel, waving his hand. “Or- a version of it. We didn’t let Jehan speak much or I suspect he would have spun a tale more fantastic then yours.” 

He ignored the offended noise Jehan made as he continued. 

“We told him we were hunters in the employ of a rich man, one who wished for a unicorn and was willing to doll out rewards to all that might help him – and that should we find one using the aid of his daughter she would be proven not only fit for marriage, but a high prize. She is, what, 17, 18? And yet unmarried – and her father is growing impatient. That is worth more then money to him now, it seems.” 

Grantaire did not know which part of that sentence left a bad taste in her mouth. She had always been uncomfortable with the idea of being sold to a man as a wife – all the better that she was never fit for it then, but she knew it was something all but her dealt with. That was just the way it was, and she had never fought it. She had never begged a lover to run away with her from her betrothed – because she knew they would not want to. Marriage meant stability, a life. 

Women got married. Every woman except Grantaire. And that was fine.

But for some reason the thought of Enjolras being sold to a man twice her age made her stomach turn. 

She said nothing of that. Instead, she asked: “And how may we be sure that they will not reveal our ruses to each other? I requested her secrecy – but what about her father?” 

“An issue to be sure – perhaps plant the idea in her head that the truth is a lie we told her father? As it is, you are the only one allowed private contact with her still. He seems unaware that a woman like you could pose a threat to her chastity.”

Grantaire sighed. “As if we aren’t the ones with the most to lose if she should be deflowered. So what, I shall strike up a false friendship with this girl and feed her lies?” 

“If you must. You are good at that, anyway. We just need to keep up this charade until everything is in place, and we are ready to capture out unicorn. ”

Grantaire looked down at her hands. She was good at that. At lying.

“Fine,” she said. “The plan is set then.”

* * *

Grantaire was glad when they returned to the inn – even gladder that she had a room to herself. It was small, dimly lit, and the bed was hard – but it was hers. 

It was better then sharing a room with three men – and certainly better then sleeping on the ground. 

She locked herself in her room immediately upon getting back, throwing herself on the bed, and letting the tension bleed out of her body as she stared at the ceiling. 

It had been a while since she had had real time to herself – between the traveling and the stress of dealing with this girl… 

But she would rather not think about that.

Stretching, she wondered if she should go down and get some food from the inn’s owner, maybe a bottle of wine.

Or maybe a little company. 

It was a thought – she didn’t purchase the services of prostitutes often, but she had done it from time to time, when she was unbearably lonely and needed another’s touch. Finding lovers was harder for her than for her male companions, after all.

That would involve getting up from the bed though, and going out and at least putting on an air of being charming, and she was not in the mood for any of that at the moment.

Perhaps she would just pleasure herself then. Another rare indulgence – though sometimes even when she was on a job and sleeping in the wild surrounded by men, she would sneak off to some secluded area and frantically rub herself to completion, quickly and silently so no one would suspect a thing. It was hardly a pleasurable thing then though, just a release of tension inside her body that she barely enjoyed. She thought of nothing, barely even got wet, barely even felt good. 

In an inn like this though, with a room to herself, she could take her time. 

Slowly she reached down and unlaced her trousers. 

It was almost more difficult like this, trying to really enjoy it instead of just finish herself. It was hard to know what to think of. She didn’t like to think about past lovers, because it always led to thoughts of how they did not stay with her, never would stay with her and-

So that was out. 

Fantasy women it was then, mostly just imaginings of lips and hands, kissing and touching and her hands burying themselves in long blonde hair and alright that was a tad more specific then she tended to get, but no matter. 

She just focused on reaching underneath her shirt, grasping one of her breasts with her free hand, and imagining it was someone else. She could just imagine all this was someone else – or she could imagine she was doing it to someone else, touching soft, pale breasts and listening to soft moans floating past red lips. 

She let herself feel good, really feel good, and that was something she felt so rarely, so she let herself melt into the sensation, and the flashes in her mind of fingers and lips, of white skin and teeth, long blonde hair and a pale neck, bared and flushed red and blue eyes and – 

She came, biting her hand to keep herself quiet, hips arching off the bed. And then immediately felt sick. 

She hadn’t-

No. Ridiculous. 

It was not Enjolras she was picturing, There were plenty of blonde haired blue eyed maidens in the world- she had not been picturing their virgin.

She hadn’t.

Even so, slept fitfully that night, feeling sick and ashamed.

* * *

The next morning Grantaire awoke to knocking at her door, and she groaned loudly. 

“Hold on a moment Bahorel,” she called, shoving herself up and running a hand through her mussed hair, stumbling over, barefooted to the door. “Surely we don’t have to leave so- oh.”

It was a maid at the door, plainly dressed, a towel wrapped around her hands in an obvious attempt to hide their anxious wringing. 

“Hello Miss,” said the girl, glancing down briefly at her hose and bare feet. “I was just wondern’ if you’d be wanting a morning meal? Y’ didn’t eat after you came back to the inn yesternight, though those men you came with did.” 

Grantaire blinked sleepily at her. An inn girl then, one she vaguely remembered from when they arrived. She had caught her gawking at her trousers, and she had nervously scampered away when Grantaire caught her eye.

When she didn’t respond, the girl continued talking nervously. “I heard your companions say you’re hunters- so I suppose you could be eating what you catch- I was just wonderin, though. We have bread and cheese and salt fish- and wine for a little extra coin, if you want a sop-“

“Yes, thank you.” She interrupted. “I can come down in a moment. Some wine sounds good.” 

“Alright. Thank you, miss, that is all I wanted- Oh! No, your name is Grantaire, is it not?”

“Aye.” 

“You have a message! A courier was by – he had been looking for one named Grantaire all morning but didn’t know where she was. I remembered that name though, and said I would give it to you.” 

Out of her apron she fished a rolled up sheet, handing it over to Grantaire. Conspiratorially she leaned in, whispering to Grantaire. 

“It is from the House of Enjolras.”

Grantaire faltered, then cleared her throat. “Thank you, miss…”

“Louison! No need to call me miss though. I’ll prepare some breakfast for you then, will I?”

“Yes, thank you.” 

Grantaire closed the door quickly, and unrolled the parchment. The hand writing was neat and delicate, the words small and tight together, filling the whole page.

A letter from the young Lady Enjolras.

Grantaire let her eyes skim over it, surveying the lines and lines of neatly looping letters before rolling it back up and throwing it on her bed unceremoniously, ready to get dressed. 

By the time she had arrived downstairs the inn girl, Louison, had made a little plate of bread and cheese for her, placing in front of her quickly before scampering away to get her wine.

Idly, Grantaire wondered if she could bed her. Sometimes when maids expressed such fascination with her and her attire it meant they were open to such advances – but the Lady Enjolras had been fascinated by her trousers too, hadn’t she?

Perhaps better not to think on that, then. 

By the time she had laid into her bread and cheese fully, beginning to register the painful hunger that had settled in her stomach, Jehan was finding her. 

“There you are,” he sighed in relief. “You were not answering when I knocked, and I hadn’t seen you since last night.” 

“Neither had the inn girl,” answered Grantaire, washing down a mouthful of bread with some wine. “She was quite worried I was starving myself.” 

“As she should be, from the looks of how you are eating. No matter though.” He sat down at the table, leaning in as he dropped his voice. “The four of us should search the forest today, don’t you suppose? Find this clearing the girl speaks of.”

Ah yes. The clearing with untainted earth, where the unicorn left its hoof prints. 

“Better eat up, then,” she mumbled. 

“Aye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ps! Gonna be posting new chapters ever hour or two until it is all up today.


	3. The Third

It should not be possible for a forest to be so maze like. From outside it had seemed much like any other patch of woods, and Grantaire had spent most of her life in woods, but when she entered it quickly became apparent that it was quite different. It had a different feel to it – one she couldn’t quite describe. The air felt different. The light looked different. She could not even find paths the way she normally did, and was feeling turned around and on edge. 

“The girl claims to have found this glade multiple times,” complained Grantaire aloud. “And she spent her whole life indoors. Why can’t we find it?” 

“The magic I imagine,” hummed Jehan. They had split into pairs to explore the forest on foot, and Grantaire could only hope it was going better for Bahorel and Montparnasse. “Perhaps it does not want us to find it.”

“But it wanted some rich girl to find it.”

“Some pure girl – and you defended her yesterday but now you snap? Did she offend you in your dreams?”

Grantaire huffed, but did not answer. She would rather not discuss the girl in relation to her dreams. 

So instead, she said: “If the forest has some magic keeping us away from its secrets, what will we do?”

“It isn’t a matter of ‘if’ Grantaire. It does have magic – a forest crackling with magic. Just like the bestiary said. Can’t you feel it?”

So Grantaire stopped walking, closing her eyes. She could feel it, sort of. A slight tingle on her skin, the back of her neck, mostly. 

She was not as sensitive to these things as Jehan was. Jehan seemed to be able to smell enchantment, could describe in detail what different types of magic felt like to him.

Grantaire had no such ability. It was just usually a vague sense for her, a perception that something was different, without clearly being able to tell what. 

“Alright,” she said, snapping her eyes open. “So it has magic. What do we do then?”

“Keep looking for now. Sometimes natural magic, it can be tricked. It doesn’t have a purpose, it wasn’t a spell, it just exists, so sometimes there are cracks in it you can pass through. If not that… The girl then. We use her.”

Grantaire sighed. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Come on, let’s find this crack.”

But that night all four of them returned to the inn sweaty, dirty, sunburned and with nothing to show for it.

The next night was the same. And the night after that.

A week and a half of fruitless searching passed before the night she arrived back at the inn near sundown, her hair dripping sweat and her boots caked with mud. They had found a stream, and tried to follow it in hopes that they would find the clearing, but had had no such luck. They had found nothing but mud and clay. 

Jehan was right, she had decided. The magic of the forest didn’t want them to find any evidence of their unicorn. It was frustrating, and Grantaire wanted nothing more than to drink her troubles away. 

It was in this state that the man grabbed her shoulder, stopping her before she could enter the inn, making her squawk with surprise. 

“Lady Grantaire, I presume?” he greeted loud and boisterous and unconcerned with the way she jumped when he caught her attention so suddenly. “You are Lady Grantaire, yes?”

“My name is Grantaire, but the formality is not needed,” answered Grantaire warily, her eyes darting around. Her companions had gone inside before they saw him. She was alone. “Who are you?”

“Ah yes, I knew it had to be you! The Lady Enjolras described you in excellent detail, if I do say so myself. Though I don’t suppose you see many ladies like you – no offense, of course!”

“The Lady Enjolras?” 

“Yes, yes, she told me what you would look like so I may spot you! You will come with me won’t you?”

“What?” Grantaire couldn’t quite grasp what was going on. She was tired, very tired, and hungry, and her body ached, and she didn’t know who this man was or why he was talking about Lady Enjolras. He was short, not much taller than her, with dark hair and light eyes, and a smile fixed permanently on his face. 

“Who are you?” she then asked, looking him up and down. He did not look threatening, but Grantaire was wary. She was tired, so she wasn’t sure if she could best him if he got the jump on her. So best to not let him. 

“Oh, of course! How rude of me!” The man took a step back, bowing to her sweepingly. “My name is Courfeyrac. I am in the employ of the Enjolras family, and I have come to fetch you.”

“Fetch me?”

“To the manor of course! Your presence there is needed greatly.”

“My presence? Specifically me?”

“Of course! I believe the details were outlined in the letter I delivered some time ago, but as there has been no response, I was instructed to go get you immediately. Immediately, of course, being relative, as the fine tavern girl informed me you were out for the day and returning in a few hours, but I imagine that was expected. Come now though, we mustn’t be any later!”

Christ. The letter. Grantaire quickly let her mind go to the worst place. Perhaps Enjolras had let the lie she had told her, the one about being a female Robin Hood, slip to her father and he wanted to confront her. Or perhaps her father had decided that a woman in trousers was just as bad as a man, and they had lost their in to Enjolras.

It could be any number of things, and Grantaire didn’t know. The letter was still in her room, unread. She didn’t even want to ask and have to explain that she had not read it.

“Fine,” she agreed curtly. “Take me there.”

Courfeyrac smiled brightly and led her to a couple of horses he had brought in to town, letting her mount a dun stallion and follow him to the manor – which, okay, probably would not have happened if the Lord Enjolras thought she was a robber.

But, to her surprise, when they arrived at the manor he did not lead her to the front, and instead to the back. 

“Servant’s entrance,” he explained simply and unhelpfully, motioning her to follow him inside. 

“Why am I here?” snapped Grantaire as Courfeyrac led her through the manor.

“Hush,” muttered the man, not looking at her. “This is a private favor I am doing – The Lady Enjolras wants to see you, but you need to keep your voice down.”

“The Lady wants to see me?”

“Yes – now hush!”

The servant’s staircase was thin and narrow compared to the main hall, and seemed to go on forever, and it was all Grantaire could do not to focus entirely on how much dried mud she must be depositing on it. Eventually though they reached a small door, which Courfeyrac stuck his head through to look around before motioning to Grantaire. 

“Here now,” he whispered. “Her door is at the end of the hall. Knock twice, she’ll know it’s you. She will call for a servant when you’re through.”

“Through with what?” hissed Grantaire, but received no answer, and was instead shoved unceremoniously through the door, it closing behind her.

She was struck with the distinct feeling of being an animal caught in one of her own traps. 

But here she was, trapped and confused, so with no other options, Grantaire just shuffled forward down the hall and knocked on the door, twice, just like the servant had said.

It was not a second later that the door was flinging open, and Grantaire was met with a flash of blonde hair and white cloth. 

“You’re here!” gasped Enjolras, and her face was flushed, her hair loose around her face, curling all the way down to her waist. “Thank the Lord, I was worried you would not- never mind that, though, come into my room quick! I don’t want anyone to see you.”

Then Grantaire was being grabbed and pulled into the girl’s room, the door slamming behind her. 

And that was about when Grantaire registered that the girl was wearing nothing but a white linen shift and hose, and with that realization she suddenly felt all the more trapped then she had a moment ago. She looked like perhaps she was preparing for bed- but she had known Grantaire was coming. Yet still she stood before her, nearly undressed, and seemingly oblivious of that. 

Her father’s instilled mistrust of men was incredibly short sighted.

“Lady Enjolras,” she greeted stiffly, nervously taking a step back from the girl. “I must admit – sending your goon after me has made me concerned. What is it you wish?”

“My goon- no! No, you misunderstand. Courfeyrac is just my family’s courier, and I asked him to fetch you!”

“Fetch me.” Grantaire bristled. There was that phrasing again. “As if I am an object.” 

“No you- you take offense to my words intentionally, I did not mean them like that. I just wanted to ask you about the message I sent you. You did receive it, did you not? Courfeyrac assured me, though he did not deliver it to you himself-”

“I received it. What of it?”

“You never responded!” snapped the girl, as if it was obvious. “I asked some important questions about your business here and my role in it, and surely you could have taken the time to deliver a response, or-“

“I have been in the forest most of my days, Lady,” Grantaire snapped back. “I am looking for your unicorn if you recall – or at least the place you saw it. What time would I have to respond? I am not in a tower all day pretending to sew.”

“That is not all I do-”

“Yes, you write letters, too, I suppose. Alas, I am not so fortunate as you. I did not read your letter.”

“You didn’t-“

“How did you imagine I would? How lovely indeed that you are so privileged that you can read and write, but I have not led such a charmed life.”

The girl flushed and fell back, sitting down on her large, plush looking bed. “Oh. I did not think- But you mentioned a bestiary! When you told me of the unicorn hair, you said your bestiary said-“

“There are others in my party who did learn to read, but I was a peasant girl without even a parent to learn me. So excuse me if I did not respond to your letter, my Lady.”

“I did not think,” repeated Enjolras. “My apologies, if you will accept them, Grantaire. It was unkind of me.”

Grantaire felt herself recoiling. This was the second time she had done this- had cowed Enjolras, and it just made her grow sicker and sicker. She was used to squabbling, mostly with Montparnasse, but winning with her did not give her the satisfaction it did with him. The letter, and the presumption behind it, had truly irritated Grantaire, made her want to snap, but having done it, she felt ill at ease.

She did not want to see this girl cowed, perhaps. 

There was something lovely in her anger, in her spirit that made her sneak out of the fortress her father built around her. 

She did not want to be the one who cowed her. 

And perhaps it would be easier for all of them if she did that, if she let the girl fall back into the submissive place so many wanted to force her in – but Grantaire didn’t want that. The girl had spirit- and she did not want it broken. 

“No need to be so docile,” she said. “Just tell me, why did you bring me here? Your father made it very clear to us that we were not to venture near your private quarters.”

“His rule is no men in my private quarters. You are a woman.”

“You and your father are more the fools for believing so much in that rule.”

Enjolras gave her an odd look. “You are strange,” she said simply. “You chide me, then seem upset with my apology. Yet you contradict everything I say, though in the vaguest of terms.”

Grantaire’s mouth twitched with the effort of keeping her expression steady. 

“You apologize for unkindness when I am mighty unkind myself, that’s all. And some things are best left unexplained. Why did you bring me here, Lady?”

Enjolras seemed hardly satisfied, but did not continue down that tract. All for the best. 

“It is… I thought about what you told me, about your sick friend, Éponine-“

(Grantaire would have to apologize to Éponine for using her as a character in her lies. If Éponine ever had to find out.)

“-And your band of men, who I still have not met, and I just… I feel odd. I know nothing about this. Am I meant to be nothing more then your bait, kept in the dark about your business? What did you tell my father anyway? Why did he let you speak to me at all?”

“We told him that we are hunters working for a rich man who would reward him for his help,” said Grantaire, just like she had been told, like she had rehearsed. Easy, easy as that. “With any luck we will have the hair and be gone before he realizes the truth.”

“And is that it, then?” snapped Enjolras, crossing her arms over her. “You lie to my father, and you use me to find your unicorn, then you leave, telling me nothing?”

“Was that not our arrangement? I promised you nothing, Lady, except for perhaps a bit of adventure.”

“I understand that, and I do not need payment to help your friend, but I feel like I have no part in this!” She stood again, at her full, regal height, taking a step toward Grantaire. “Tell me, Grantaire, am I just a lure in this scheme? I will understand if I am, but I should like to help you in more ways then that – but I can’t if you won’t let me.”

She was just a lure. That was what she was meant to be. That was what she was always meant to be, since they had all sat together in the room of the inn talking about nuns and children and how they could find one to use as a lure.

Find a virgin. Use her a lure. It was supposed to be that simple. 

But she was standing in their lure’s bedroom, and maybe it wasn’t that simple. 

Which is why she hesitated, staring into deep blue eyes, then said: “…Apologies, my Lady. I am not used to requiring help. Besides, people like you often want little to do with people like me.”

“People like you?”

“Poor people,” answered Grantaire bluntly, before thinking to add to it. “Outlaws. There is a reason we lied to your father.”

“But you chose not to lie to me.”

Grantaire’s mouth twitched again. “There are people you lie to, and people you are truthful with. Who is who depends on what they want to hear.”

“And you thought I would want to hear the truth?” 

_No._ “Yes. You seemed like you would be sympathetic to our plight. To my plight.”

“Your plight.” 

Grantaire smirked. “You seemed fascinated by my trousers.”

The girl blushed, and Grantaire felt it rush to her head. Oh no. That was going to be a problem.

“It is just – I did not know women could, I mean, that women would be allowed-“

“No one allows me, Lady. I am my own master.”

“That… that sounds pleasant.” She broke her gaze from Grantaire, dropping her eyes, and Grantaire was suddenly overwhelmed with. With something.

And before she knew it she was saying: “How about this, My Lady. Come with me.”

Her gaze shot back up. “What?”

“For the night, I mean!” corrected Grantaire quickly. “I mean, I can help sneak you out, if you want. Have you ever even been in town? If you want I could-“

“Yes! I mean, I haven’t ever been in town, so the answer to that is no, but yes! I can get Courfeyrac and Musichetta can lie to my father- you will help me get dressed, won’t you?

It was Grantaire’s turn to be shocked. “What?”

Enjolras scoffed, gesturing to places on her body Grantaire had been very much trying not to look. “I cannot go out like this! Here, I have a plain dress-“

“Why do I need to help you dress? Here, I can just turn around-“

“Nonsense, we are both women. It will be faster, here-“

“It-It is undignified for-“

“You are literally sneaking me out of my home, Grantaire! I think we are beyond that!”

Grantaire had no argument. She ended up telling Enjolras the unsteadiness of her hands was because she hadn’t worn a dress since she was a child, and didn’t mention that she was more accustomed to removing dresses.

* * *

“I did not realize it would smell so different,” whispered Enjolras as she clung to Grantaire’s arm. “The town smells so different from the manor, and even from the forest!”

She had hardly released her arm once since they had arrived in town and bid farewell to Courfeyrac, who, just as Enjolras said, had promised to cover for them. There was something odd about the way all the servants doted on her, but perhaps it was just the girl’s charm.

Grantaire was certainly putting herself out on a limb for her. 

“Well,” answered Grantaire. “People do stink in larger numbers.”

“It is just so different. That isn’t something you imagine, I suppose. Are we near your inn?”

Grantaire was glad Enjolras wanted to see her sleeping quarters the way she did. She was aching all over and incredibly tired, and hungry. And in need of a damned drink.

“Act normal when we go in the inn,” she sighed. “There aren’t many nice characters that hang around there.” 

“Not nice like outlaws?”

“Worse. Just stay with me. Try not to stand out”

As they entered the inn though, Grantaire realized there was no way Enjolras couldn’t stand out. Her plainest dress was still very fine, and she had wrapped a cloth around her head but it did little to hide her flaxen hair.

Several men turned when they came in and without thinking about it, Grantaire pulled her arm away from Enjolras’ grasp and wrapped it around her shoulders instead.

“Here,” she muttered, guiding the girl. “Let’s go to my room.”

She guided her toward the back of the inn, looking around until she saw who she was looking for. 

“Louison!” she called, motioning for the girl, who jumped up from the wine she was pouring when she saw, scrambling over to her. 

“Louison,” she asked, passing over some coins to the girl. “Can you bring some food up to my room? And some wine?”

“Yes, miss. And, uh.” She glanced at Enjolras, still glued to Grantaire’s side. “Two glasses then?” 

It suddenly occurred to Grantaire just how this looked too anyone with a brain, and any more words were suddenly caught in her throat.

“Yes, two glasses please,” answered Enjolras before Grantaire could recover. “I will be here for the night- but I won’t stay too long if that is a problem-“

“Enj- shush!” yelped Grantaire, her face heating up. “You- Do not bother good Louison.”

“It is alright Miss,” said Louison quickly, speaking over Enjolras’ annoyed huff. “I will be discreet.”

“No, it’s not-“ started Grantaire, but Louison was already curtseying and scurrying away into the crowd.

“You interrupted me!” snapped Enjolras at her side. 

“And you were at risk of embarrassing me, and yourself. Come now, lets go to my room.”

“ _I_ was at risk of being embarrassing? You were the one who almost used my name-“

“Let’s go to my room and not talk to anyone else-“

“Grantaire!”

Grantaire was going to scream. Instead she fixed a smile on her face and turned, to see Jehan weaving over to her, a mug of ale in his hand. 

“Grantaire, you are back!” he called, stumbling a little when he reached her. “We were worried you might not return, Montparnasse was saying- oh hello! And you are?”

Grantaire cleared her throat, letting go of Enjolras’ shoulder. “Jehan, this is-“

“No, no! I know! This is our maid, is it not?”

“I am no one’s maid, Sir,” said Enjolras, her voice careful but unwavering. “I have never met you, so I am certainly not yours.”

“Ah, no offense intended, My Lady! I simply meant…” Jehan leaned in and lowered his voice. “You are the Lady Enjolras, yes?”

“This is Jehan,” said Grantaire. “He is, ah, one of my men.”

Grantaire was beginning to really regret painting herself as the leader of their group. It had been a moment of egotism, an unfortunate one, because she did not know how to act like a leader. She was in no way a leader. 

“Oh,” sighed Enjolras, visibly relieved. “Hello then, Good Sir.”

“No Sir about it, just Jehan shall be fine, or Prouvaire if you must. I recognized you as soon as I saw your face. At first I thought you were just one of Grantaire’s dalliances, but she spoke so highly of your beauty, I was sure it must be you. What is the princess doing out of her tower?”

“I am no princess.” 

“You must forgive Jehan,” interrupted Grantaire quickly. “His words get ahead of him even when he’s sober – which he clearly isn’t. I do see you were awfully worried about me.”

“We mourned you in the way you would have wanted, I imagine.”

“Fair enough. The Lady and I are strategizing. For the job, you know.”

“Does her father know of your _strategizing_?”

Grantaire flickered a smile at Jehan. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Please Jehan, we shouldn’t stay here too long. You never know who is around.”

“Ah yes, of course. My Lady,” he offered in good-bye, taking Enjolras’ hand to kiss it, a bold move that Grantaire was ready to blame on drunkenness, even though she knew he would be no different sober. Enjolras though seemed unbothered by such an intimate act. How many, Grantaire wondered, had offered such a gesture to her.

“I will see you again, Prouvaire,” she offered politely. 

“I hope you will. I dare say we won’t find the clearing without you. Now go to your festivities.”

Grantaire sputtered again. “It is hardly festivities Jehan-“ but the man was already leaving, and, frustrated, Grantaire sighed and once again led Enjolras toward the stairs.

Finally, they were able to make it to Grantaire’s room, dark and small as it was.

“Here we are now,” she sighed, lighting the lantern on her desk. “I am sorry I can not show you more of the town, My Lady- but I don’t imagine you would find it inviting, and I am quite tired besides.”

“It is fine, you have already done much for me,” said Enjolras as Grantaire moved to the bed, sitting down and bending over to work at the laces of her boots, not looking up, but aware of the way the girl stood at a distance from her.

“You may sit, My Lady. I know the bed is not very appealing, but it is what I have to offer.” 

“Must you continue to call me ‘Lady’? You seem opposed to my name.” The bed dipped as Enjolras sat next to her, very close, because it seemed Enjolras had no regard for personal space. When given the slightest provocation to be close to Grantaire, she would be very, very close.

Grantaire didn’t want to think about that. She focused on her mud incrusted laces instead.

“You said yourself, I shouldn’t use your name.”

“You know that is not what I meant when I said that! Besides, no one would know who I am if you just called me Marie.”

“Certainly not.” 

“Why not? You are just being contrary now!”

“It is one of my few talents. Wounds-! These damned shoes-“

The knots were stuck, and her hands were growing clumsy and shaky anyway. She had eaten too little again probably, and had barely even had any wine to still them. 

“Here,” said Enjolras, reaching out to grab Grantaire’s arm. She jumped when she did, her eyes meeting Enjolras’ again. “Let me.”

Grantaire blinked at her, uncomprehending for a moment, then she shook her head. “No- no need, My Lady. You would get dirt on your dress.”

“So? You are tired- and you helped me into my dress besides.” 

“That does not give me the right to dirty it.”

“Stop arguing with me! I am offering help, let me help you.” 

Grantaire hesitated, but finally leaned back, reclining on the bed and letting Enjolras pull her foot into her lap, long, pale fingers working at the knots. 

The silence that fell over the room was thick and heavy, only broken by the creaking leather of her boots. Grantaire hated silences, but she didn’t dare break this one. 

It wasn’t until Enjolras finally succeeded unlacing the boots, exclaiming happily as the knots pulled apart, mud flaking onto her hands. 

“There!” she said, pulling the boot off entirely, letting it drop to the floor and leaving her hose clad foot laying in her lap. For a moment, they seemed frozen there and Grantaire was unsure if she should draw her foot away or leave it there. There was something unbearably intimate feeling going on, and Grantaire did not know how to respond.

“Do you wear women’s hose or men’s?” Enjolras asked suddenly. 

“Um. Women’s. Why?”

“I just- I just wondered, since you wear trousers, if you wore men’s hose. It might be more practical, I suppose.”

“Well. I don’t. I am still a woman.”

“I know! I just…” Lightly, tentatively, she placed her hand on Grantaire’s foot. “I have just never know a woman like you.”

She sounded unsure, uncertain. There it was again, and Grantaire continued to dislike it. It only lasted a moment, though, because Enjolras, still ever so easy to read, rolled her shoulders in determination, before speaking again, her voice clear again.

“May I ask you a personal question Grantaire?”

“I suppose.”

She gripped Grantaire’s foot a bit tighter, and Grantaire considered telling her to let go, but did not. 

“I am… I know I don’t know much about personal matters, but there is… That is, I have had suspicion-“

“Do not mince your words, Enjolras,” interrupted Grantaire.

Enjolras nodded, rolling her shoulders again. “Grantaire, do you… love women the way a man might?” 

A brief, humorless laugh burst from Grantaire’s lips. There was nothing funny about this – she knew how most people would feel about her proclivities, her companions and like-minded women aside. Enjolras learning the truth could be the end of her, especially if she told her father. Especially if she told her father about helping her dress, and removing her boots. 

But still, she laughed. Then she said: “That is a way to put it, I suppose – though I would contend that the love between women bares little resemblance to that of men. But yes. I feel towards women the way that could be considered ‘like a man.’”

“Oh,” said the girl. “So, that is, you lie with women?”

“I do.”

“Oh.” Enjolras had still not let go of her foot. “I had not known that was an option.”

“Many don’t. I have always been this way, though.”

“So you’ve never… with a man…”

“No.”

“You said you weren’t a virgin, though!”

Grantaire sighed. It was to be expected – but such conversations and lines of thought were incredibly tiresome to Grantaire. “I am not. Not in anyway that counts. It is a sin, besides, if you believe what the church says.”

“Oh,” Enjolras repeated, her brow furrowed. “I apologize if I’ve offended you. You must think me terribly naïve.”

“ _You_ offend _me_!” Grantaire let out another humorous laugh. “I am the deviant here, and you are worried I might take offense?”

“You aren’t- I never called you a deviant! There is something, I mean… There seems something… right, about loving a woman, I suppose. I had never realized one had a choice- but I suppose not everyone has a choice. It must be easier for you, with no one to account to. Here, give me your other shoe now.”

She finally released Grantaire’s foot, and the shuffle of getting the other one in her lap gave Grantaire time to reflect on her words. _Right. Easier._ As if to imply that if she did have the choice… 

“It is not always easy,” she said as Enjolras began pulling at the next pair of laces. “Freedom comes with sacrifices. There is much you have that I don’t.”

“What? The expectation to marry?” scoffed Enjolras, keeping her eyes trained on

“A family. I had no one who cared about me, and no one I cared about, so it made living on the fringes of society much simpler.”

“You had no family? Never?”

“I suppose someone must have given birth to me, and for that to happen I must have had a father, but I never knew either of them. Surely this doesn’t surprise you, My Lady? You don’t end up in my line of work without something going wrong.”

“I said not to call me ‘Lady’ anymore. You may call me Enjolras in private, if you are so opposed to my Christian name. What is yours, anyway?”

“My Christian name? I don’t have one.”

Enjolras paused at her work and looked up, blinking in surprise. “What? How is that? No family, no Christian name, did you just spring to life fully formed?”

Grantaire chuckled, then shrugged. “If you must know, I suppose. My early days are much a blur. My earliest memory is of sleeping on the floor of a nunnery – and I suppose I had a name there? They give you names don’t they? But I don’t remember it. Just know I lived there, and I loathed it from a young age. I always- I always felt like I did not belong. So I ran away. I was far too young, but I did, and no one went looking for me.”

“The nuns didn’t care?”

“I was born in sin. Or at least that is what everyone speculated. I must have been a whore’s daughter, or maybe a half-breed vagabond daughter.”

“The nuns said that?” exclaimed Enjolras, incredulous. This boot was taking much longer then the last, but Grantaire was not about to mention it. 

“Nuns are just people. Many of them girls your age or younger. Besides, they may have been right. But I have always thought – so what if I am? What if it is truth? If it is true, why is it wrong? So it doesn’t bother me.”

“And your name?”

“Oh, that. After I ran away I lived in a town, and on the edge of the forest next to it – and I learned to hunt to feed myself. I hunted rabbits mostly, trapping them, eating what I could and then selling their skins. There was one other hunter in the area – an old man named Grantaire who lived in a thatch in the woods. People began to assume I was his apprentice, the strange wild girl, and started calling me by his name. I had no other, so I kept it.”

“You took a stranger’s surname?” There was a laugh in Enjolras’ voice, and her hands had stopped any pretense of trying at her laces. 

“I suppose. I met him… twice, I think. He was old, he didn’t hunt much anymore.”

“Such an incredible story!” 

“Everyone has a story, Lady Enjolras. Mine is not special or glorious.”

It really wasn’t. She left out a lot – the years her ribs had stuck out of her chest, and the way she had begged and stole before she taught herself how to hunt. She didn’t tell how she had no shoes until she was 12 and traded 5 rabbit skins for a pair, or how much of a shock her menses came to her, how she her first three bleedings – over the span over one year – had frightened her terribly until she asked the midwife’s daughter, who always smiled at her prettily when they saw each other in the marketplace, and was taught what was happening. 

She didn’t tell her about the terrible way rabbits screamed before they died, and the noise their necks made when she snapped them. 

“I have no story,” scoffed Enjolras, turning back to the laces. “Not one like yours, at least.”

“Says the girl who saw a unicorn.”

“That isn’t- Well no one believed me, anyway. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I should believe myself.” 

“I believe you.” 

It came out quick and easy, and it was the easiest truth Grantaire had ever spoken. So easy it startled her. 

“I mean, I told you that already. When we met before, I already-“

“I know. And I appreciate it. It… I am not used to it. People listening when I speak.” She looked at Grantaire again, a soft smile playing on her rosy lips, pale face softly illuminated by the lantern, and Grantaire was suddenly captivated by the light in her eyes. 

“Enjolras,” she said, almost beyond her control, not know where this was going. “Enjolras I-“

A knock interrupted the mood that fallen over the room, and both of them jumped, startled out of their reverie. 

“Hold on a moment!” called Grantaire, as Enjolras scrambled to finish untying her laces and pulling the boot off.

“I’m coming,” she called, stumbling over herself to get to the door, the knocking continuing insistently. 

She was expecting to see Louison on the other side of the door, balancing food and drink in her hands, looking curiously to try and catch a glimpse of her companion without seeming nosy – but that wasn’t who it was. 

“Is she here?” hissed Montparnasse, glare fixed ferociously on Grantaire the instant the door opened at all. 

“What-“

“The girl. Jehan said you brought her here _is she here?_ ”

In lieu of answering, Grantaire finished opening the door, letting it swing wide and stepping aside a little so Montparnasse could see the girl still sitting on her bed. 

“God’s nail’s Grantaire,” he whispered, before snapping “I need to talk to you a moment. Get out here.”

Grantaire stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what had him in such a mood, before calling out. “I will be back in a moment, My Lady.”

“Grantaire, what is-“

“It’s nothing important, My Lady. Just some business talk.” 

She stepped out quickly, closing the door behind her. 

Montparnasse sneered at her. “ _My Lady._ What are you, her servant now? Ushering her around town? Did you carry her on your back like a horse, so she wouldn’t get her feet muddy?”

“Now is not the time for your damned grudges, Montparnasse.”

“But it is the time for your vices?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I know you’re smitten with this vacuous little bitch-“

“She’s not _vacuous_ , Montparnasse, and you would know that if-

“They all are- all these rich whores doing nothing all day-“

This again.

They all had stories: and Grantaire certainly knew Montparnasse’s. His father had been a noble, and his mother a scullery maid who had been sent away when her belly began to grow, without a penny to her name, only a black eye from the man and a story to tell her son – that he was his true heir, and every bit of his fortune should have been his. And Montparnasse, wolf that he was, had never let that go, had chewed on that bone all his life. Every time they were near anyone richer than him, Montparnasse began raising his heckles and baring his teeth, ready to strike.

“Yes, yes, Montparnasse, your daddy never loved you and you never got what you deserved, could you stop picking at scabs for one damned day?”

For a moment Grantaire thought Montparnasse was going to hit her. His eyes flared and he took a step forward, his whole body rigid, and Grantaire braced for impact, balling her own fist in preparation.

It wouldn’t be the first time. They had a rough relationship, the roughest of any of the four of them - and often after weeks of being on jobs together they would begin to snap at each other. Sometimes they fought. It was unavoidable.

Whatever wild urge that Montparnasse felt though, he suppressed quickly, clenching and unclenching his fists, glaring at her with his dark, fierce eyes. 

“I’m going to make this is as clear as I can, Grantaire. You cannot have sex with our virgin.”

_“What?”_

“I know you, Grantaire, and I know what a lovestruck fool you can be, and you are not allowed to fall in love with this girl! You aren’t allowed to love her, you aren’t allowed to kiss her, you aren’t allowed to bed her. We need this goddamned unicorn, and I won’t let you ruin this for us! You do understand that catching this unicorn would set us up for life, don’t you? We might never have to work again! No more living on the road or out of taverns, no more catching rabbits and eating nothing but dried meat for weeks. Hell, no more working with Jondrette – we need that. I need it, and I won’t let you ruin it for me!”

Grantaire rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up. “I’m not going to sard our virgin! I’m not in love with her. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“I think you are smitten, and that is just as bad,” growled Montparnasse, his voice low. “I’ve seen you pine after women you know you can’t have, and I’ve seen you torture yourself even more by bedding them when you know they will go back to their families and their husbands and their normal lives every single time.”

“Shut up.”

“And you never say it, but I know you. I know that every time you think that this is the one – this is the one who will run away with you, who will give up all the comforts you gave up for the sake of your backwards love. But they won’t – and you know they won’t. You are a romantic fool, Grantaire.”

“Shut up!”

“You know you chose a life of loneliness – we all did in a way. But you ruin yourself with it – you try and take little pieces of what you won’t ever have. And this won’t be the one, Grantaire – this girl! So she dreams of silly adventures and is charmed by the stories you spin about being an outlaw who only wants to help the poor and sick – but do you think that’s real? Do you think she’s going to choose you? Do you think she is going to leave her life of comfort for a lying vagrant deviant? Do you think she won’t recoil once you tell her the truth-“

“ _Shut up!_ Shut your mouth, you puny little bastard-“

Before she knew it she was the one who had lunged forward, and her fists wrapped around his shirt front, snarling in his face.

“You know I’m right!” snarled Montparnasse right back, his own fists grabbing on her wrists. “You’re getting too attached to her. You snuck her out of her house, Grantaire. Are you here to hunt or to woo? You think you can woo a girl you’ve done nothing but lie to since you met her?”

“It’s not like that, she’s not-“ 

“Not what, Grantaire?”

“Not…” Her grip loosened. He was right, wasn’t he? God. She was caring more about this girl then she should – she knew she was. She was lying to Enjolras, tricking her, and she knew that if she let herself care about her, really care about her, she couldn’t do that anymore. 

You can’t care about the rabbit who gets caught in your trap.

“You’re right,” she mumbled. “Don’t make me repeat that.”

“Good. I don’t care if you keep up a lovey-dovey act with her – it seems to charm her enough. But keep it an act, understand? Don’t let this become real.”

Grantaire released him and fixed her gaze down, staring at her hose clad feet. “Right.”

“I knew you would understand – in a way Jehan and Bahorel wouldn’t. People like me and you, Grantaire, we grew up tough. We know when you have to do make sacrifices to live. Gold is the only thing that will keep you alive, it’s all people care about. We have to do whatever we can to get it.”

“Right.”

“Um-“ They both turned to see Louison approaching them, balancing food and a bottle of wine. “I have your food, but I can wait if you’re busy-“

“No,” said Montparnasse, his entire attitude suddenly turned around, his voice full of charm. “No its okay, I was just about to leave. Grantaire, you will do the thing we talked about.”

“Yes.” 

He was right. He was right. They needed the money that Tholomyes had promised them for this unicorn – so they could stop living job to job, so she would never have to think about her time of being a starving child ever again. That was why she had always done it, right? From catching rabbits to selling beasts, it was for the money. 

And to do that she needed to lie to Enjolras. And to do that she couldn’t be feeling what she was feeling for her, what she had been feeling since the first time she met her. 

She couldn’t want to tell Enjolras the truth. It’s what she had been going to do in there if Montparnasse hadn’t interrupted them, wasn’t it? If not that instant, then later, certainly. She was going to tell Enjolras the truth, tell her she had lied, and ruin the only chance at hunting a unicorn they would ever have.

And she couldn’t let that happen. 

Smiling, she took the food and the wine off of Louison, precariously balancing it as she brought it into her room.

“What was that about?” asked Enjolras as she came in, rushing over to help her with the food. 

Almost instantly, Grantaire felt her resolve crumbling. Enjolras was too brilliant – not just her beauty. There was something inside her, something strong and beautiful, that had stood up to years of her father’s anger, of society’s expectations. Grantaire could see it just looking at her, this golden thing inside this girl’s soul. If she could find away to flourish, this girl could be great.

It was why the forest, why the unicorn had chosen her.

And Grantaire didn’t want to lie to her. She didn’t want to lie to herself anymore. She cared for Enjolras, maybe not love, not yet, but something like it. 

But Enjolras couldn’t love her. Whatever it was inside of Enjolras that was gold, in Grantaire there was only coal, pitch, tar. A unicorn would never come to her. Enjolras would never love her, should never love her. Grantaire was a hunter and a liar. She was cruel, selfish, with nothing to offer her or anyone else. Grantaire would only corrupt her.

It was too late. It was too late to doubt herself. Telling the truth would be worse then lying.

“Nothing,” she answered simply, and the smile she wore was false.


	4. The Fourth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for animal death in this chapter.

“I must say,” said the Lord Enjolras, sharply. “I expected this whole operation to go faster.”

They were at the Lord Enjolras’ manor again, at his large table again, again with him at the head and his wife to his right, though this time the younger Enjolras sat at his left. 

Grantaire wished she wouldn’t. She hadn’t spoken to Enjolras since when she had snuck her back to her home in the wee hours of the morning. Now, as it was, whenever she caught Enjolras’ eye, the girl smiled at her, just a slight upturn of the lips. 

Grantaire wished she wouldn’t. 

It was frustrating enough, having to come before the Lord Enjolras again, but they had found themselves at an impasse. It was incredibly clear now that they would not find the clearing of untainted land that Enjolras described to them on their own, and that, Jehan was sure from his readings, would be the most likely location for the beast to return to when they used the girl as their bait. 

Two weeks had passed though, and they had not found a single flower, just the persistent, skin tingling feeling of magic flowing through the forest. 

The only chance they had now was Enjolras herself leading them there. And that meant, unless Grantaire wanted to sneak her out again and risk being beheaded by her father, they had to get the Lord Enjolras’ permission to take her into the forest. 

An unpleasant, unlikely prospect indeed.

“I understand sir,” Jehan was trying to explain. “But you see, when working with creatures, it often takes time, and-“

“You have been buzzing around here like flies for a fortnight, but you have made no progress. Not even caught a glimpse of the unicorn. Tell me, do you still believe that my daughter is telling the truth?”

Next to him, Enjolras flinched. Grantaire thought she might have been the only one who saw it.

“With all due respect sir, we believe there is magic in the forest that may have led your girl to the home of the unicorn, and might be keeping us away from it. We wish-“

“So you’re saying,” drawled Lord Enjolras. “A forest is besting you. Does it not seem more likely that Marie here was lying, in order to-“

“She isn’t lying,” snapped Grantaire, and an odd quiet fell over the table. Oh. Right. She was supposed to be a servant. It was getting very tiring, wearing so many different masks. Lying was easy, but being a servant one moment and a leader the next was beginning to grate.

“Sorry,” she apologized quietly.

The Lord Enjolras seemed all too happy to ignore her, the opinion of a supposed servant, and of a woman, but Bahorel spoke up in her defense quickly. “We have no evidence to show that your daughter is mad, but if we could be allowed to have her escort us through the forest-“

“Her? Escort you?” The Lord laughed. “What good could that possibly do?”

“Father,” interrupted Enjolras. “I could do it. I always know how to find-“

“Hush, Marie. What did you say was the name of the Lord you were serving again?”

“Tholomyes.” It was Montparnasse that answered this time, and Grantaire suppressed her surprise. He was rarely talkative with nobles. He could be charming, certainly, but often his contempt overwhelmed that and if he did speak it was biting. Really, one civil answer was more than she expected from him. 

“Tholomyes. A well respected lord, so I don’t see why he would hire you. I suppose I will find out though, when he responds to the letter I have sent him.”

“You what?” Bahorel lept from his chair, and the rest of them froze. 

“I have sent him a letter, just yesterday, requesting that if he wants this unicorn so badly he must send more men, and get it done quickly. I will not tolerate much more of this.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” hissed Montparnasse. He was more restrained then Bahorel, still seated in his chair, but she could feel him radiating deadly anger.

This was, after all, the worst thing that could have come out of this meeting with the Lord. If Tholomyes did send more men, that would ruin the lie they were feeding Enjolras. Not to mention that there was a chance this would ruin their reputation so much, that they would lose this job, and then where would they be.

It was ruined. This would ruin them. Grantaire’s hands were beginning to shake.

“Father!” interrupted Enjolras again, louder and firmer this time. “Father, let me speak!”

Slowly, his gaze cold, the Lord turned to his daughter. “What is it now, Marie?”

Enjolras cleared her throat. “Father, I am sure I can find the clearing again, if you just let me go with them. It will be faster, won’t it? Letting me help them instead of waiting who knows how long until this Tholomyes responds. I can do it faster I am sure and…” she cleared her throat, and just for a moment Grantaire saw her eyes flit over in her direction. An easy tell for a falsehood, but she doubt the man noticed. “I am sure it will be hard, working with these fine huntsman, but it is a small price to pay to prove I am a dutiful daughter. It is all I have ever wanted to show you, father, and I know I have rebelled in the past, but I swear…” 

She sniffled, and Grantaire held back a laugh. She was faking crying. It was ridiculous, but she could tell that the girl’s father was hanging on it, ready to play the wise father. “I swear, I will be loyal to you after this, if you allow me to prove myself to you.”

There was a pause, and then the Lord Enjolras nodded his head in acquiescence. 

“Since you are so eager to prove yourself, I might give you a chance, my daughter.” He straightened himself. “It will make you worthy to wed, even at your age I suppose.”

Enjolras shot Grantaire another smile. She had just saved their hides.

* * *

Grantaire did not sleep well that night. She had not slept well in a few nights. Her chest felt too heavy when she tried to sleep, like something was weighing heavy on her heart.

The last time she had gotten an alright sleep was when Enjolras had been in her room, sleeping soundly on the small cot as Grantaire laid on the floor. 

The sound of Enjolras’ breathing had lulled her to sleep, a quiet, comforting presence.

Grantaire could not sleep well anymore.

* * *

They met Enjolras the very next day, and if anyone noticed the circles that were beginning to form under Grantaire’s eyes, no one mentioned it. This job was beginning to wear down on all of them. They all felt the pressure to succeed acutely, more than any one of their jobs before. Bahorel was shaving noticeably less, Montparnasse was snapping more and fiddling with his knives more, and the already pale Jehan was looking ghastly.

So no one mentioned anything, and Grantaire was glad for it.

Musichetta, the servant, didn’t mention it either when she led Grantaire (and only Grantaire, even though this rule was quickly becoming obsolete) up to Enjolras’ room.

So again, she ended up in Enjolras’ room. 

“Thank you for convincing your father for us,” was the first thing she said when Musichetta left them be. “I don’t know if we could have done it.”

“My father was being ridiculous,” dismissed Enjolras. She was sitting in a lavish chair, busily tying a scarf around her hair, covering her long blonde curls the best she could. “He is impatient and can be unreasonable – it’s where I get it from I suppose. It was easy, though.” She finished tying it and stood, giving a small, playful curtsy to Grantaire. Grantaire hoped Enjolras did not notice her blush.

“I imagine you saved our whole operation,” she insisted. “I owe you. We all owe you.

“You don’t need to owe me anything. I knew I had to do something,” said Enjolras, shrugging her thin shoulders. “If the letter gets to Tholomyes before you can get the hair for your friend, you will be ruined.” She paused, and rung her hands briefly, before steadying them resolutely. “I will do everything I can to help you Grantaire.”

Grantaire wanted to scream. She wished Montparnasse had never planted the idea in her head that Enjolras might have some misguided affection for her – she wished she didn’t think that maybe he was right. She wished he hadn’t made her confront her own feelings.

She wished she had never lied to Enjolras. 

But no. She couldn’t. There was no point in hoping for something better anymore. This is what was happening, and she had to live with it.

“Right,” she said simply. “Let’s go. It will be a long day.”

* * *

Enjolras’ introduction to the men went as well as could be expected. She had met Jehan before so now seemed unphased by his oddness and beginning to warm up to him. Bahorel towered over her comically but was warm and genuine. Montparnasse played nice though his smile had a vicious quality, and Enjolras seemed inclined to stay way from him.

Once introductions were settled, the planning for the day began. Five would be an unwieldy group to travel in such a large group, so the intention was to split up, and continue searching as they normally did, except this time with Enjolras in their ranks.

What was less simple was how it was to be divided – and Grantaire was less then thrilled when they decided to let Enjolras remain in a group alone with Grantaire.

“Is this necessary?” asked Enjolras as the four hunters began to divide their supplies, ropes and water skins and flint and other things, all in bags they kept on their belts. “I have found the clearing many times, I don’t see why I can’t just lead you all there.”

“It will be different,” insisted Jehan. “We are here, so it will be different. Grantaire! Take this.”

He handed her a small, brown tube of parchment with something hard on the inside, and with a string sticking out one end.

“Something I picked up from a trader, from the orient,” Jehan explained before Grantaire could ask. “It will be our new signal to find each other. If you find the clearing light the string and stand back.”

“This all seems unnecessary,” insisted Enjolras. “I don’t see how it will be any different from any other time.”

* * *

It was different.

“This doesn’t make any sense!” said Enjolras when they stopped for a short break, pacing anxiously. Her headscarf had been removed for an hour now, letting her golden hair reflect prettily in the dappled sunlight and her dress, not an especially fine one at least, was beginning to become encrusted with mud. “It doesn’t make any sense, I could always find it before!”

“We told you, it is different when we are here,” said Grantaire, not looking up from the trap she was setting on the ground. There was little reason for her to be doing it – it was just a small rabbit snare, like she had learned as a child, but there was something comforting in the familiarity of trying knots, setting bait, arranging leaves. A small, cynical voice in the back of her head also reminded her that if no one ever hired her to hunt great beasts anymore, perhaps she could go back to making a living like this – a meager, hand to mouth living as it was. 

“I don’t see why!”

“The forest does not want us to find it, only you.”

“Well… that is unfair! And now even I can’t find it!”

“Unfair!” Grantaire laughed as she finished her trap, covering it with leaves and standing, brushing dirt off her hands. “As if anything is fair in this life.”

“I just don’t see why when you are around… Grantaire… You do not think I am actually mad, am I?”

“What?”

“I just-“ Frustrated, Enjolras fisted her hand into her hair, tugging it slightly, her slight franticness growing. “I just… I don’t know what to think anymore! Everyone doubts me and it makes me doubt myself! What if I am mad? What if it was a dream? What if I have led all of you on, because I am a silly girl who believed a dream, and your friend dies, and-“

“Enjolras!” Grantaire reached out, grabbing Enjolras’ shoulder, steadying her. “Enjolras, calm yourself. I don’t doubt you.”

“You did. You did doubt me, when we met.”

“But I changed my mind, remember? You convinced me. You’re very good at that. First me, then your father. You even convinced me to sneak you out of your home, even though I am quite sure your father would have killed me. You are silver-tongued, and you are smart and kind, and I believe you are telling the truth.”

Enjolras fell silent for a moment, her eyes cast down. Then she nodded softly. 

“It is… hard,” she said softly. “When no one believes in you.”

“I understand. Here now, keep leading the way though. We are close, I know we are.”

They were likely not close, cause they kept wandering for a while more, and when they stopped again, Enjolras was again jittering with frustration, and Grantaire was completely turned around and exhausted, sitting on a large boulder for some rest.

“Come now,” she called wearily, taking a drink from her water pouch. How she wished she had thought to bring wine. “Come now, Enjolras, relax a moment and sit next to me.”

“How can I relax?” snapped Enjolras, even as she went to sit next to Grantaire. “If I can’t find it, and trap the unicorn, if our lies to him are exposed then he-

“Do not think about that,” insisted Grantaire, passing her the water. In truth, she didn’t want to think about it either. “Talk to me about something else. Anything else.”

“I have little to talk about,” sighed Enjolras. “I doubt you want to hear about my needlepoint lessons.”

“I’m sure you can come up with something.”

She thought for moment, tugging at a lock of her own hair anxiously, before speaking up. “Well I did think- No though. It is foolish.”

“No, tell me.”

“I just… You will laugh. Or be angry.”

“And you will never know which unless you tell me.”

“Well, I just. I had wondered if you would like to learn to read a little?”

Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up. “You… what?”

“I don’t want it to seem like I am looking down on you, I just thought you might… enjoy it I guess. I enjoy reading, but if you don’t feel the need-“

“No,” interrupted Grantaire. “I mean, no I think it sounds fun. Teach me how to read.”

“Really?”

“Really. If you can. I warn you, I am not very bright.”

“Don’t jest like that.”

“Who is jesting?”

“Grantaire-! Oh, never mind. Let’s see, how will we… Ah! I know!” Enjolras stood, straightening her skirts, before running over to pull down a long, thin stick from a low-hanging branch, bringing it back over to Grantaire.

“Here now,” she said. “I am going to show you the alphabet.”

She proceeded to meticulously a series of letters in the dirt, paying careful attention to straight lines and even curves. When she finished, she offered the stick to Grantaire.

“Here now, can you copy those?”

“Of course I can! I am illiterate, not blind! Here, I can do you one better!” She scratched the stick into the dirt, quickly sketching a small rendering of Enjolras, long squiggles for her hair and an upturned line for her mouth.

“Oh!” laughed Enjolras. “That is lovely. But it isn’t what I asked for!”

“You are a strict teacher then, are you? A regular slave driver. Fine then, I will copy you.”

She copied every letter carefully, Enjolras telling her the noise it made with each new letter. When she finished that, she bumped her shoulder on Enjolras’. 

“That was dull. Here, show me how to spell my name.”

“Oh, alright, here, let me…”

Unconcerned, she grabbed Grantaire’s hand that held the stick, and he hands were so soft, and Grantaire suddenly regretted asking.

But when she was done, she asked: “Now yours. Show me how to spell your name.”

Together they traced out: E – N – J – O – L – R - A - S

Grantaire smiled at the scratches on the ground, and neither of them said anything. Enjolras’ hand stayed on Grantaire’s.

Their lull, hunched over their makeshift alphabet, was broken by a scream, an unholy, piercing, familiar scream. 

“What is that?” yelped Enjolras, and Grantaire waved her hand in lieu of an answer, going after the noise, Enjolras scrambling after her, calling her name in distress. “Grantaire? Grantaire please-“

It was not but a few moments of dashing through the forest, that she found what she knew was making the noise though.

It was a hare, caught in the trap she had set earlier, thrashing about violently as it hung by one foot, screaming, screaming, screaming. There was really nothing like the scream of a hare. The first time Grantaire had heard it, it had haunted her for a fortnight.

Behind her Enjolras gasped, and for a moment Grantaire was worried she would faint. 

“This is a fine catch,” she said, keeping her voice steady to be heard over the screams. “This will feed us for the night.”

“Grantaire! It is screaming! Let I go!” yelped Enjolras from behind her, and when she looked back the girl was clutching herself her eyes wide and wild.

“That would do no good. Its leg is probably broke.”

“It’s so scared, Grantaire please-“

“All the more reason to make this quick. You may turn away if you wish.”

“No, Grantaire-“

“Enjolras, please. I need to act fast, unless you want it to die from its own thrashing.”

Enjolras stared at her for a few more moments, before she turned quickly, covering her ears and hunching her shoulders. Satisfied, Grantaire turned back to the trapped hare. 

“Shh,” she shushed, as she approached the thrashing thing, even though she knew it would do nothing. “Shh.”

She broke the pathetic thing’s neck as quick and as clean as she could. She didn’t want to be cruel about it. It’s scream cut off into a terrible gurgle as it died, and behind her she heard a feint sob. 

There was a terrible silence left, carved out by the absence of screams, as Grantaire tied the hare’s legs, making it easier to lug. 

After a long moment of that, Grantaire spoke. “It really is better this way. It didn’t suffer.”

“It was _screaming._ ”

“They do that.”

“It was screaming and you killed it.”

“For food. The meat on your plate has to come from somewhere.”

“I know but-“

“I know you are lucky enough that you do not need to get your own hands dirty-“

“Will you stop that!” yelled Enjolras suddenly, and Grantaire finally turned, seeing that Enjolras had turned back to her. Her eyes were hard, angry, even as her face was streaked with tears. “Stop that! Stop talking down to me! I know I’m not as worldly as you – I have never hunted my own food or traveled the lands, but that does not mean you can dismiss everything I say! You contradict everything I say, even my own feelings! Stop it!”

Grantaire blinked at her. “I’m- I’m sor-“

“You are so blinded by your own thoughts you ignore mine! I am not a little girl because I cry when a hare dies! My feelings are my own, and you may not judge them! Wounds, you are like my father sometimes!”

Grantaire felt like the air had been knocked out of her. “I- I did not intend-“ 

“Well you have! You could have been kind about it- to me if not to the hare! You could be kind, you just choose not to be! I know there is kindness in you, but you bury it without any regard for anyone else!” Enjolras wiped her cheeks with her sleeve, tears still leaking down them, dripping down her chin. “I need to be alone for a moment. Let me be alone.” 

Grantaire nodded mutely, and the girl turned, disappearing into the forest.

Guilt rushed over Grantaire. She had made Enjolras cry again, and she just- she was so confused. 

She ad never felt like this before, and it was scaring her. All she could think about was Montparnasse, telling her not to get to close to her, but when she pushed her away her heart ached. She hated this. 

She had said she knew there was kindness in her.

Grantaire was not so sure. Would Enjolras say that if she found out the truth?

Grantaire knew the answer to that. 

She knew Enjolras was wrong.She was not kind.

_“Grantaire!”_

Enjolras’ voice cut through the woods, and Grantaire’s head shot up, panic jolting through her. 

“Grantaire! Grantaire come quick!” it called again, and she cursed loudly, dropping her hare and taking off running in the direction of her voice. What a fool she was – she shouldn’t have let Enjolras go off alone! What if she was hurt, what is she was being attacked by wolves, what if she had- 

She stopped dead. 

Enjolras was standing in the middle of the most beautiful, idyllic clearing Grantaire had ever seen.

“Grantaire,” she cried when she saw the woman, her voice cracking with joy. “I found it! I found it; I finally found it- I am not mad, I found it! The footprints are even still here! I knew it was real – oh Grantaire!”

“You found it,” whispered Grantaire, still standing at the very edge of the clearing. “God’s teeth.”

And then she started laughing. They spilled out of her like a waterfall, relieved laughter like Grantaire had never experienced before. 

“Grantaire,” she heard Enjolras call, as she collapsed to the ground, dropping into the soft grass, sitting there ad laughter still spilled forth, her eyes closed from the strain. “Grantaire, what-“

“I thought you were dying-“ gasped Grantaire between laughter. “I thought- You really aren’t mad!”

“I’m not!” agreed Enjolras with more joviality then to be expected. 

Grantaire was catching her breath, and she lay back fully, finally opening her eyes again. When she finally quieted her laughter, she smiled a little. “I never really thought you were.”

“Should we not-“

“Right, right, the others.” Grantaire sat up, rummaging in her sidepack for the device Jehan had given her, setting it on the ground. 

“I don’t know if this is safe,” she called to Enjolras, who was still standing in the middle of the clearing, having been watching Grantaire’s hysterics with a kind of bemusement on her face. “Stay over there.”

As instructed, she got out some flint and struck it at the end of the rope, and immediately it caught alight, traveling up the rope to the tube. When it reached the tube it shot up suddenly, making Grantaire yelp, and just as suddenly as that happened the device exploded mid air. 

Both women gaped openly at the display. 

“Well, that ought to lead them to us,” remarked Grantaire. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” said Enjolras, unbothered by her non sequitur, walking over to where Grantaire still sat. “I know killing the hare was for the best. And I do know you are just more used to hunting than I, it is not that you are unkind.” She hesitated. “I do mean what I said, though.

“You need not apologize, you were correct to yell at me,” responded Grantaire. “Though I must confess, I dropped the bloody thing when I thought you were in trouble. So maybe it did die in vain.”

“Grantaire-“

“I know I am too rough. I am like a thistle, I imagine, ugly and nothing but thorns. I am sorry that I pricked you.”

“You are not ugly! And you are not just thorns.” Enjolras dropped to her knees in front of Grantaire, her dress flowing around her as she sat, the picture of beauty.

“But I am unkind, as you said. I am sure when this is all over you will be glad to be rid of me-“

Grantaire was cut off by Enjolras’ soft lips pressing against her own.

It was only for a moment, and it was maybe the softest kiss Grantaire had ever experienced. And it hurt, it hurt more then anything, and when Enjolras drew back, Grantaire knew she was gaping at the girl. 

“Grantaire,” said Enjolras, like she just wanted to say her name. “Grantaire I- I don’t know why- I’ve just been so confused-“

“Enjolras-“

“Oy, Grantaire!” 

Grantaire jumped, scrambling to her feet as soon as she heard Bahorel call out to her. Thank god they hadn’t been closer, hadn’t seen-

“Over here!” she called, reaching down to grab Enjolras’ hand, pulling her back up. “Over here, we found it!”

A moment later the men came through the woods, Bahorel at the head, all three of them stopping dead at the edge clearing. 

“Christ,” swore Montparnasse. “She’s not mad.”

“How did you two find it?” asked Bahorel, crossing the clearing to get to them, as Jehan went to inspect the patches of flowers: tiny, multicolored things in the shapes of hoof prints. 

“She ran away from me,” chuckled Grantaire. “And then she found it. We found it! We-“

“We have a problem,” interrupted Montparnasse. “Would you two get over here for a second?”

Bahorel and Grantaire looked at each other with bewilderment, then strode over to where Montparnasse stood over Jehan, still kneeling by the flowered prints. 

“R, touch one of them would you?” he asked, gesturing. 

“Why-“

“Just do it.”

Grantaire shrugged and knelt down next to Jehan, reaching out to gently stroke the petals of one of the flowers. 

“Alright, I’m touching it now- Oh.”

As her hands stroked the petals, the flowers began to wilt instantly, shriveling and browning before her very eyes.

“The same thing happened when I touched them,” mumbled Jehan, gesturing to an already wilted patch of flowers Grantaire hadn’t noticed. 

“Wounds,” swore Bahorel. “We need to get out of here, quickly!”

“What’s going on?” called Enjolras. “What are you all talking about?”

“We’re corrupting it,” mumbled Grantaire, only to be echoed by a shout from Montparnasse. 

“You’re damned right we’re corrupting it! That’s why this damned forest wouldn’t let us find it – untainted land and we’re the ones tainting it! Jesus Christ!”

“We can’t lose this clearing!” snapped Jehan, shooting to his feet. “We can’t leave or we’ll never find it again!”

“If we stay it will be useless!” snapped Bahorel back. “The unicorn won’t return here!”

“Shut up!” snapped Grantaire. “I have a plan!”

“You have a plan?” sneered Montparnasse, dropping his voice to a low whisper. “Cause all your plans have put us in such great shape, hmm, boss?”

Grantaire ignored him. “I have a plan we just- we just stake this place out. If we always have someone on the edge of it we can find it again.”

“Not a very sustainable plan,” mumbled Jehan.

“It’s all we have though.” Bahorel rolled his shoulders, dropping his voice low so Enjolras wouldn’t hear them form her place a few yards away. “We’ll stake it for a few days to gather our supplies. Then we’ll use Enjolras to trap it.” 

“I don’t like this,” said Jehan. “We’re moving too fast. We’re going to get sloppy.”

“We don’t have a fucking choice,” hissed Montparnasse. “It’s this or lose our payment because of the girl’s damned father.”

“Fine,” said Bahorel, loudly. “It’s decided then. Grantaire, you need to take the girl back to her home now.” 

“What happened?” asked Enjolras, as Grantaire walked over and grabbed her arm leading her away from the glade. 

“I’ll explain on the way,” she mumbled – then stopped as soon as they were out of sight. 

“Enjolras,” she said, firm. “You mustn’t kiss again. Never again, do you understand?” 

The girl looked stricken. “What? Why? Did I- I mean, are you-“

“It’s nothing you did Enjolras, then you can’t-“

“The girl. It’s the sick girl, Éponine. She is your lover.”

“What? No! Éponine is simply a friend. Look, Enjolras you just… I don’t want to corrupt you.”

“Corrupt me?”

“Yes! Enjolras, finding this unicorn is important and your purity- not that I would try that without you wishing- but even if you wished, we need the unicorn to come and we need it soon- and it’s a good thing a sinful kiss like that hasn’t seemed to have turned the magic of the forest against you already!”

“Oh,” said Enjolras, her voice dropping flat. “My chastity again.”

“You need to understand-“

“I understand perfectly, Grantaire,” she snapped, crossing her arms over herself. “I am just growing a little weary of it being the only thing that gives me value. Take me home then, will you?”

Grantaire’s voice caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say. 

Then, words were coming out of her mouth. “That is not why I value you. But I… I can’t allow myself to feel these things, Enjolras. I am… I have done many bad things, Enjolras. I am not a kind person. I am not a good person. And you… you deserve more than me.”

“I don’t believe that,” whispered Enjolras. “I don’t believe you are not a good person. The bad things you have done – you do them because you believe them to be right. I think it is… noble, in a way. I suppose I shouldn’t, being the status I am, but- and you must think it terribly naïve of me. But you do… what you do, to help people.”

Grantaire’s heart sank. “What I do. You mean… rob people.”

“Yes. You said yourself, it is about redistribution, and I know it is terribly silly of me to think… but it’s like charity, I suppose. Even know, you are going to such lengths to help your ill friend… You are noble Grantaire. I know you don’t think you are, but you are.”

For a moment, Grantaire had forgotten what Enjolras thought she did, who she thought she was. She had forgotten, for just a moment, that she didn’t know her at all.

She had forgotten how much she had lied to Enjolras. 

And Enjolras thought her noble. So she had kissed her. 

And for a moment, she had let that make her happy.

“We should be getting you home,” she said, because it was all she could say.


	5. The Fifth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where you need to really start paying attention to the violence warnings.

A week passed of their uneasy vigil, and Grantaire found she could only sleep when she was next to the glade. She was plagued with dreams when she did, ones that she could not describe, but left her heavy with unease.

In the waking world, she planned. They had filled the cart with ropes and chains and nets, whatever they could think of. Montparnasse purchased new arrows, Grantaire paced around the clearing, trying to decide on how would be best to catch the beast. Bahorel and Jehan spent days dragging the cart through the forest, over the rough terrain and carefully wheeling it around trees until they could hide it in the forest, near the clearing.

Jehan read the bestiary entry out loud to them whenever they had time, and Grantaire soaked them in, sometimes looking at the page herself, trying to recognize the letters Enjolras had showed her.

She traced over pictures of the razor horned beast, and wondered how they would capture it.

She tried to think of Enjolras’ role in all this very little.

She didn’t succeed.

It was at the end of the week, near midnight, when Bahorel found her, wide awake at the edge of clearing, deep in thought.

“Hullo, R,” he greeted, illuminated by the moonlight through the trees and the fire Grantaire had lit, for both warmth and to make it easier for the others to continue to find the glade. “I’m here to take over your watch.”

“You don’t need to,” she said, shrugging and continuing to stare out at the glade, its impossibly soft grass almost seeming to glow in the moonlight.

“Ah, but I already came all the way out here! Let me at least sit with you,” he chuckled, sitting as he said it and holding his hands out to the fire. “Why are you awake anyway? It’s not like we have to literally keep an eye on the glade – it will hardly run away.”

“When I sleep I… have dreams.”

“As I imagine most of us do.”

“They are dreams that trouble me, but do not last in my memory long enough to consider.” She turned from the glade and back towards the fire, pulling her knees close into her chest. “Do you ever think about that it’s out there? The unicorn is in the same forest as us – even as we plot against it, it shares the land with us.”

“You are melancholy tonight, Grantaire- though you have been for a while now. What troubles you, Grantaire, besides your dreams?”

“I am simply worried about what comes, is all. You know what the bestiary says as well as any of us: _Though it is gentle with maidens, the unicorn is-_ “

“ _-a ferocious beast of great strength and magic._ ” Bahorel finished for her. “Yes, I know. But that is not all that bothers you. You don’t fear beasts, Grantaire, or you never have before. We have trapped fiercer beasts than the unicorn.”

“Perhaps. I just…” Grantaire clasped her hands together, cold and dry, covered thick with calluses. “I wonder if I can ever be forgiven.”

“Forgiven?”

“For the crimes I have committed, and will commit. Surely it must be a terrible crime against nature to bind a unicorn. Even the forest knows that.”

“Perhaps. Why is this on your mind, Grantaire? You have never had second thoughts before.”

“I have been having second thoughts for weeks now,” she whispered. A confession. And then another, told even quieter. “I might… care for Enjolras.”

“Grantaire…”

“I know it is wrong, and I know she can not feel the same way back, even if she thinks she can, and I know that I can’t let it ruin our mission, but-”

“Steady, Grantaire,” sighed Bahorel. “It is not wrong, for you to love this girl.”

“I did not say love!” Grantaire buried her head in her hands. “It feels wrong, besides. It feels wrong for someone like me… and someone like her.”

“How does she feel about you?”

Grantaire scoffed. “She likes the false me – the Robin Hood who lies to her father to help her sick friend. She does not know the real me, and I am certain when she does, she will hate me.”

Bahorel did not respond, but he did reach out to clap a comforting hand on her shoulder.

After a moment of them staring at the fire, Grantaire spoke again.

“I have developed a plan, I think. To trap the unicorn.”

“Grantaire, if you-“

“Don’t. Don’t indulge my doubt Bahorel. It is too late for doubt. I made my choice. I made the choice long ago.”

Montparnasse was right. She would always be alone. She had made that choice.

She was making her choice now. She had to stop thinking about Enjolras, and focus on what she had to do instead.

She had to stop thinking about Enjolras.

(She couldn’t.)

* * *

The day that it was going to happen, Grantaire slept a little, then woke up early to prepare. She wore a nice shirt, dampened her fingers and ran them through her hair, and then, for some reason, practiced her letters. She wrote the alphabet on a spare piece of parchment, then her name, then Enjolras’.

That was all she had learned.

Then, she went to get their virgin.

“Do you know how to ride?” she greeted, the picture of merriness when she called out to Enjolras. “We are taking a horse today. Special occasion.”

“Hardly,” scoffed the girl, coming down the stairs, her dress today loose, flowy, white. The very picture of chastity. “I was taught to read, but riding would be far too much. I brought a book like you suggested. My favorite – it is full of fairy tales.”

“You will just have to hold on to my back,” she said. “I’m sure it’s a lovely book.”

“Maybe I can read it to you one day. Or teach you how to read it.”

Grantaire laughed, and didn’t respond, simply helped Enjolras onto the horse before climbing up herself, letting Enjolras grab her to steady herself.

This was the end. This was the last time before Enjolras hated her. So she let herself enjoy the way Enjolras held her as they rode along in silence, entering the forest.

“Grantaire…” mumbled Enjolras after a while. “After you get the unicorn hair… you will leave, won’t you?”

“I suppose,” answered Grantaire, her voice careful, steady. Enjolras’ arms were wrapped around her midsection tight, and even through her clothes she could feel the warmth of Enjolras’ torso pressed to hers, jostling with the pace of the horse. “I will have to, after all.”

“Will you come back?”

Grantaire’s throat was dry. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” admitted the girl. “It is selfish, but I do. You have… You are very different from anyone else I have known.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“I know you are.”

_There is much you don’t know._

“I doubt I will be allowed,” she said, diplomatically. “Once the truth is revealed.”

“My father wouldn’t have to know. Or maybe…”

“Or maybe?”

“Or maybe you could just… kidnap me, I suppose?”

“Kidnap you?” laughed Grantaire, despite herself. She knew she had said she was an outlaw, but what could she mean by that?

“I know it is foolish! But… now that I know it is an option, I must admit, I don’t want to marry. You would not have to keep me with you. I know… I know you likely wouldn’t want me with you on the road. I know you don’t… Just take me away from here.”

“Enjolras…”

“I know, I know it is a sacrifice but… It is one I want to make. What good is being safe if I am unhappy? I have thought about it so much, I have thought about how much time I have wasted being safe and locked away by my father. I have been outside more in the past few weeks then I normally would be in moons! And going back to how I was before seems terribly oppressive now. And what, when not my father, then my husband, whoever that might be? I want to be away. I want to escape.”

Grantaire’s hands were shaking holding the reins. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Enjolras wasn’t saying- she couldn’t-

“I wish I could,” whispered Grantaire, and her voice felt so raw, so broken. “I really do wish I could take you away with me, Enjolras.”

“Why can’t you?”

“That’s just… That’s not the way things are.”

Enjolras squeezed her tighter, and her voice was on edge slightly. “How are they then?”

“I don’t know,” she answered stupidly, before adding: “But… This is not a world where people like you run away with people like me. I am not someone people run away with.”

“People like me,” repeated Enjolras. “You have said that before.”

“Have I?”

“Yes. You make a lot of assumptions about me. Is it because I am a virgin?” She tightened her grip again. “Because the unicorn will come to me? You have seemed to put me on a pedestal, then buried yourself in the ground just to ensure you can’t reach me. But I am not in a tower, Grantaire. I am right here.”

“You don’t understand,” whispered Grantaire.

“What don’t I understand? I can’t understand if you don’t explain it!”

“I- I am not like you! I would corrupt-“

“There you go with that again! I am not a saint, Grantaire, and you are not the servant! But tell me, why are you so set on making my decision for me?”

It was too much. Overwhelmed, Grantaire pulled at the reins of the horse, joltingly pulling it to a halt as, behind her, Enjolras yelped and grabbed her shirt to steady herself. Then she felt herself crumple forward, burying her face into her hands, her entire body curling as much as it could while staying on the horse.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras cried in confusion, her soft, gentle hand touching Grantaire’s shoulder. “Grantaire, are you-“

“Please be quiet for a moment,” mumbled Grantaire. “Please… just a moment.”

The silence that followed let her know that Enjolras was obeying, but she did not move her hand.

They could turn around right now. That thought kept running through Grantaire’s head. She could turn around and never see the unicorn, never see Jehan or Bahorel, Montparnasse or Éponine ever again.

This was all she had ever wanted, wasn’t it? She could run away with Enjolras clinging to her back, cut all her ties, make up some story for Enjolras and just be gone. She could hunt rabbits and deer and sell their skins. She could teach Enjolras how to hunt too. She could be with her, with someone else like her. She could forget about unicorns and Tholomyes and Jondrette, forget about it all.

But that would just be more lies.

Just more lies, always more lies.

She straightened herself.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, her voice shaky, turning as much as she could so she could see a bit of Enjolras. “For the outburst.”

“Are you alright?” asked Enjolras gently. She looked concerned, so concerned, worrying her lips with her milk white teeth.

“I am. And… I’ll tell you what Enjolras. If you still want me to take you with me, after all this is over, after we’re done, I will. I will in a heartbeat.”

Enjolras blinked. “Really?”

“I swear it. I swear to you. If you still want it, I will not argue.”

“That would be a first!” laughed Enjolras, and she was clearly bursting with joy, looking at her in such a way, in a way that Grantaire had always wanted someone to look at her.

It would be an easy promise to keep. Grantaire knew what was coming. She knew her lies would soon be revealed.

She knew what Enjolras would think of her then.

* * *

“So I just need to wait here?” Enjolras asked, settling herself underneath the tree, Grantaire watching her from the edge of the clearing. “Just… reading?”

“I know it’s not a terribly involved job, but it’s an important one. One that only you can do.” Grantaire shrugged. “Just wait here and read. You were sleeping last time, so if you get tired, go ahead. I will be watching from afar, make sure you’re alright, and I will make a noise loud enough to wake you if you are asleep when its time to grab the hair.”

Enjolras wrinkled her nose, arranging her skirts around her and opening her book, a book of fairytales. “It will be weird, you watching me sleep.”

“Don’t think of it like that then.”

“How should I think of it then?”

“Think of it like… I am the witness who will prove everyone who doubted you wrong.”

Grantaire wanted to burn the smile Enjolras flashed into her mind, because she was sure it would be the last time she would ever see it.

She let herself linger on it for a moment, before looking away. “Alright. Let’s begin the waiting.”

“Grantaire, wait!”

She hesitated, looking back at the girl, looking idyllic in the glade, her hair spilling everywhere, the sun soft on her face.

“What if the unicorn doesn’t come to me?”

“It will.”

“But what if- what if it was just the one time-”

“Enjolras… relax. I believe in you.”

Enjolras nodded at her, her face almost comically determined as she turned to her book, waiting for Grantaire to walk away.

She did, leaning against a tree tiredly when she was far enough away.

It began now.

What Enjolras didn’t know was that she would not be the only one watching her. Jehan and Montparnasse were in trees on the edge of the clearing, on opposite ends of each other. Bahorel, who had made to leave when they arrived, was probably already hiding in the brush, and she should be doing the same soon.

Two in the air, two on the ground. Jehan and Montparnasse would corner it, she and Bahorel would bind it. Enjolras- Enjolras would hate her.

A simple plan. An easy plan.

So she lay down in the brush, belly flat to the ground, eyes glued on Enjolras.

She did not have a way to tell the time – she could not even see where the sun was in the sky from her place on the ground – so she tried counting the number of times Enjolras turned the page in her book. She had reached 57 when the she stopped, head nodding, and then finally the book slipped from her hands, and Enjolras was asleep.

Then Grantaire could do nothing but watch her breathe. So that is what she did.

It was just barely beginning to dim, and Grantaire was wondering what would happen if the unicorn never came, when suddenly, it happened.

A still seemed to fall over the entire forest, and slowly, silently, the unicorn emerged.

It was pure white, light reflecting off of it like it was the finest opal, with the body like a horse, legs and neck like a deer, beard like a goat, tail like a lion, and from it’s forehead, a long gleaming horn, looking razor sharp and crafted of moonstone, terrifying and beautiful all at once. Its footsteps were silent, and where it touched the ground flowers sprang up, blooming instantly in their many-colored glory.

It was beautiful. It was the most beautiful thing Grantaire had ever seen.

Slowly, tentatively, Grantaire pushed herself up on her elbows so she could see it better, careful not to make any noise.

The others would be waiting for her signal, she knew that – but she was mesmerized.

The unicorn walked, almost glided, over to Enjolras, leaning down its long neck to her, scenting the top of her head. It walked around her carefully, as if it was trying not to disturb her, as if it could.

She should call it. She should call the others, let them know it was time, they were waiting, but-

She couldn’t.

_She couldn’t._

She couldn’t do this, and that feeling struck her all at once, pierced through her heart. She couldn’t do it.

Everyone was waiting for her cue, and she was frozen.

The beast, tenderly, tenderly, laid its body down next to Enjolras, resting its head in the sleeping girl’s lap gently, and then, to Grantaire’s dismay, Enjolras began to stir.

“Grantaire-“ mumbled the girl, her voice thick with sleep, her hands reaching out for the beast. “Grantaire-“

And then chaos broke loose.

Montparnasse, it seemed, was tired of waiting for her signal, because all of a sudden arrows, some with ropes attached to the ends, were shooting down from the trees, hitting the ground and the trees and the unicorn’s flesh with sickly thumps.

The unicorn was on its feet. Enjolras screamed. More arrows, more screaming.

One of Jehan’s fire cracker’s being thrown shocked Grantaire out of her trance, and scrambling to her feet, she ran forward. As she sprinted into the clearing so did Bahorel, but as he ran toward the beast, all wild eyes and stamping hooves, Grantaire ran toward Enjolras.

This hadn’t been the plan.

She had thought – her ideal ending to this had involved Enjolras running away, out of harm’s way and so Grantaire would not have to consider her eyes on her. They needed two people on the ground, after all, to make their plan work. Their simple- easy plan.

Montparnasse would shoot arrows, some with ropes. Jehan would throw his explosives to keep the beast in the perimeter. Then she and Bahorel would use the arrows with ropes to stake down the beast, using iron pegs, which would hopefully hold long enough that Jehan and Montparnasse could row down chains – and that would be the end of it.

But Grantaire ran toward Enjolras, throwing her body in front of her in case any stray arrows neared her.

“You need to run!” she shouted. “You need to run; you need to run now or you’ll get hurt!”

“Grantaire!” the girl was screaming over her, frozen to the ground, eyes side and face ghost white. “Grantaire, what’s going on, what are you doing, Grantaire-“

“Grantaire!” shouted Bahorel from behind her. “Grantaire! Get over here!”

“Grantaire- no, tell me you-“  
  
                                          “Grantaire I need-“

                                                                 “-Run, you need to run, please, Enjolras-

“Grantaire-”

                         “Grantaire!”

Bahorel screamed, and Grantaire whirled around just in time to see the unicorn’s horn goring this left shoulder, and him staggering backwards, collapsing on to the ground.

No. No n _o no no she didn’t want to do this no-_

But.

Shooting one look back at Enjolras, still trembling on the ground, Grantaire rushed forward- a stupid move but the only one she had. The stakes were out, the beast was bucking too wildly now- so Grantaire threw her whole body against it, locking her arms around its neck and kicking desperately at its legs, hoping to knock it over. More explosions, more arrows, more bucking and snorting and braying and screaming- and then Bahorel was back on his feet.

He followed Grantaire’s lead, throwing his entire mass at the unicorn, and that did it. The beast toppled, almost crushing Grantaire before she scrambled out of its way, its legs kicking wildly, and Bahorel was shouting again. “The chains! The chains!”

Panting, surely bruised all over, Grantaire half ran and half crawled over to where Jehan was throwing down the chains.

And then it was over. Chains around its neck and its back and its belly, chains around its legs, and the beast stopped fighting, its heavy breathing shaking its whole body, rattling the chains. Its white coat was dyed red in patches. Its horn dripped blood.

Both Grantaire and Bahorel collapsed to the ground, their breath short.

Sometimes when they caught a beast they would celebrate, whoop and cheer and hug each other.

Now they were only silent.

And then Enjolras screamed.

“How could you!” she screamed, on her feet suddenly. “How could you- How could you do this? What have you done? Grantaire, what have you done!”

Grantaire couldn’t look at her. She couldn’t look at the unicorn. She couldn’t look at Bahorel.

She just looked down.

“What have you done?” Enjolras was shrieking, back still pressed to tree, clutching it like it was a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire eventually managed to choke out. “I’m sorry, I am so-“

“You lied to me.” Enjolras didn’t scream that. Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “You lied to me. All this time I thought you were lying to my father, but it was me. You were lying to me. You’re hunters, aren’t you? And you lied, because you knew I wouldn’t help you hurt it like this.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“You _didn’t?_ Didn’t what Grantaire?”

 _I didn’t want to_ would have rung too false. It was the truth – but it seemed so false.

So instead she said: “I didn’t want you to see this.”

And then she looked up.

And Enjolras was crying – tears rolling down her face. She made her cry again. Of course she did.

Part of her- part of her had wanted Enjolras to lash out when she found out the truth. To spring on her like a snake, like a wild animal, and hit and scratch and bite at her.

But here she was, just crying. And that was worse.

“I’m sor-“

“ _Stop._ Stop apologizing. God, I-“ She buried her face in her hands, sobs coming out of her, loud and clear in the still left after the chaos.

When she composed herself, all she did was gesture at the beast.

“Look at what you’ve done, Grantaire.”

Grantaire didn’t say anything. She didn’t move. She didn’t look.

Then Enjolras shook her head. “I guess you were right, Grantaire. I was wrong. You aren’t kind or good.“

And then, finally, she turned and ran.

No one said anything. Grantaire simply stared at where she had been a moment ago.

She had forgotten her book of fairytales.

* * *

Two days later, Jondrette showed up in town, his eldest daughter in tow.

The day after that Tholomyes arrived.

* * *

“You’re lucky my Éponine intercepted the courier before he could deliver the letter to Tholomyes!” Jondrette snapped from up on his horse. “I forged a new one, asking instead he come at once to see the excellent process of his dutiful hunters. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t caught the damned thing.”

“You always could have always just pocketed the letter and spared us the trouble,” grumbled Grantaire.

“And risk arousing the Lord Enjolras’ suspicion when no response came? Honestly Grantaire, what is wrong with you today? You should be celebrating, you will likely receive the greatest reward. It worked out perfect, besides – who knows how long it would have been before you lot could have carted it to him?”

Grantaire just glared at him, not that he could see.

It had been with terrible reluctance she had dragged herself out of bed. It was not even because of her bruising, which had blossomed, dark and plentiful on her legs and arms and torso and wherever else the unicorn had got her. Physically, she wasn’t great, and certainly couldn’t ride a horse, but she was certainly doing better than Bahorel, who had passed out cold after the four of them somehow managed to load the unicorn into the cart, and had been slowly recovering ever since.

Still, she had not left her bed since that night. Louison, concerned but reticent, entered her room once or twice a day, leaving food which she rarely touched. Montparnasse and Jehan took turns visiting her, whenever the other was watching their catch out in the woods, where they had left the unicorn in the cart.

Jehan mostly told her about the others: talked about how Bahorel was doing, when Jondrette had come, when Tholomyes arrived. Montparnasse, significantly more clipped when he spoke, talked about the unicorn: how it didn’t move, didn’t struggle, only glared.

Neither talked about Enjolras, or the outburst they had witnessed from the trees.

Grantaire rarely responded. She just laid in bed, not sleeping, not thinking, just laying there.

But now Tholomyes was in town, and wanted to meet the noble hunters that caught him a unicorn, so Grantaire had dragged herself out of bed. According to Jehan he had brought a small entourage of guards and servants, and had thin, greying hair and a bulbous nose.

She didn’t want to see him. She certainly didn’t want to see him at the Enjolras manor, where he wanted to meet, so he could also meet the beautiful maid who had helped the hunters.

Grantaire wanted to throw up when she thought about it.

But still, she dragged herself out of bed, changed her shirt, and was now following Jondrette on foot. Jehan and Montparnasse were getting the cart and the unicorn, the successful parade of noble hunters that would arrive before her – the wounded hero. Bahorel was still in bed in the inn, too weak to travel.

Grantaire wished she were also back at the inn. Every step she took hurt. Her ears still rang with the sound of Enjolras weeping.

“Your companions have agreed to let you and Bahorel take most of the glory,” Jondrette was continuing. “I imagine mostly cause you are both injured, but Jehan also spoke of your planning- So I am sure your reward will be substantial.”

“I don’t care about that,” mumbled Grantaire, but Jondrette either didn’t hear her, or didn’t care enough to respond.

Tholomyes, it turned out, also had bad teeth. For some reason, it was all Grantaire could focus on when he greeted them in the front entrance of the Enjolras manor. He had bad teeth, obvious when he smiled, which he was doing quite persistently. So was the Lord Enjolras, which was suspect, because she had never seen him smile even once before.

“You must be the Lady Grantaire,” greeted the man, and she didn’t bother rejecting the title. “Excellent, excellent, how quaint it is! A woman who dresses like a man – and from what I understand, you are competent like one, too.”

“She is, she is,” agreed Jondrette, dismounting from his horse and doing his silly, sweeping bow. “And you must be the Lord Enjolras! Your daughter, noble and virtuous, has greatly helped my hunters! How is the young lady?”

“I’m afraid the violence gave her such a start – you know how women are. She has taken to her room and will hardly come out – but she will be fine I imagine. It is a happy day!”

“And you have inspected the beast? It is to your liking?”

Uninterested in Jondrette’s sycophancy, Grantaire let her attention wander to find the cart, a few yards away, where Montparnasse and Jehan were loitering.

It was in there. The beast, the unicorn that they had bound, whose blood they had spilled.

Not bothering to say a word to the men standing around her, she turned and limped over to the cart as quick as she could.

“How is the beast?” she asked bluntly.

“The poor one in the cart or the rich one on the steps?” sneered Montparnasse, before Jehan hushed him.

“Its wounds still bleed and will not stop up,” answered Jehan. “This morning, vines had grown all around the cart where none had been before, and we had to cut it free just to hook up our horses. It stares at me when I go in to see it, with the most accusatory eyes. I… I wonder if we have made a mistake.”

“You too, Prouvaire?” Montparnasse threw his hands in the air. “First Grantaire almost blows are whole plan, and now you are doubting when we have the money in our sights?”

“Montparnasse! I fear it will die if we give it to that man! It is weak, and being in a menagerie of terrible beasts-”

“Which will be his business and not mine! He can use its horn if it does besides! Neither of you have cared what happened to the beasts we caught before, so long as we got paid.”

“But this-“

“He is right,” interrupted Grantaire, crossing her arms over her body. “What can we do? It is far too late to be forgiven.”

“Let it go, Jehan,” sighed Grantaire. “It is too late.”

“Hunters,” called Jondrette, interrupting their conversation as he strode over to them. “Have you heard the happy news?”

“The happy news of our payment?” asked Montparnasse.

“In a way! The Lords Enjolras and Tholomyes have told me that they are in the process of arranging an a courtship – of Tholomyes to the young virgin!”

Grantaire’s heart dropped. “What?”

“The little tart is already being whispered to be the most beautiful, purest girl in the land, and her hand will now be greatly sought – but Tholomyes is the best choice, is he not? Getting him a prize beast and a prize wife – my- I mean- our rewards will be heavenly.”

That was why the Lord Enjolras had been smiling so and- and no. No, it couldn’t be- he was so old and his teeth were so bad, and he had his beasts fight each other- but that was how they had sold it to Enjolras, that this would make her marriage worthy.

This marriage would be Enjolras’ own personal hell, and it was all Grantaire’s fault.

“Lady Grantaire!” Tholomyes was approaching her suddenly, and her vision was swimming. “Lady Grantaire, your companions tell me that the plan to catch my new pet was yours- if you are feeling well enough, I should like to hear of your adventures.”

“I’m going to be sick,” was all she was able to get out, before dashing behind the cart to throw up.

* * *

She wouldn’t be forgiven. She wouldn’t ever be forgiven.

But she could make things right.

“He’s leaving at the crack of dawn,” she told Bahorel that evening, sitting on his bed, her hands folded over the book in her lap. Enjolras’ book of fairy tales, the one she had left behind. “He is planning on taking the unicorn and the girl. Montparnasse is watching it tonight.”

Bahorel nodded seriously, but said nothing, and so she continued.

“He left us coin purses- bigger then you have ever seen. He is – he is so ugly. He is so old. He hasn’t even met Enjolras, because she won’t leave her room. They are just… they are just planning on kidnapping her.”

“That is often how marriage happens,” said Bahorel. “Ugly as it is. What are you going to do?”

“What can I do? Nothing.”

“You know, Grantaire, you’re a bad liar.”

She laughed a little, smiling joylessly at him.

“I’m an excellent liar.”

She waited until the sun set, then waited longer. Then she went downstairs and found Louison.

“A bottle of your finest wine,” she ordered. “Spare no expense.”

“Miss Grantaire?” she asked timidly. Grantaire forced a smile.

“Just Grantaire. The wine please.”

She fetched her the wine, and a glass, which she declined. Then, covertly, she handed her a fistful of gold coins, not bothering to count them.

“Keep it all,” she said as she marveled at it. “Don’t tell your boss, just… Keep it.”

“Th-Thank you M- Thank you, Grantaire.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you, Louison. Oh, and Louison?”

“Yes?”

“You are very lovely. I just… I am trying to be honest now. So I thought I would tell you that. You are lovely, and I think if it weren’t for other circumstances, I might have been drawn to you.”

The inn girl blushed bright red. “Thank you,” she repeated, seeming at a loss.

“Alright. May I ask you a favor, Louison?”

“O-Of course.”

When she was done with that, she left the inn and got her horse from the stable, flinching the whole time she climbed on it.

In agony, she rode to the Enjolras manor, drinking from the bottle of wine when the pain seemed overwhelming.

Her mind was cloudy by the time she reached the manor, and whether that was from the wine or the lack of sleep, she wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. She remembered, from when the courier, Courfeyrac, brought her there. She remembered the entrance, and she remembered how many steps to take up before she reached the hallway to Enjolras’ room.

Then she just stood in front of her door, at a loss.

She had to make things right. But she did not deserve to be forgiven.

But she had to make things right.

Holding her breath, she knocked on the door.

“Go away Musichetta!” she heard Enjolras call.

Gritting her teeth, she knocked again.

Again: “Go away!”

She hesitated, then knocked again, only two knocks this time.

There was a long silence, then the door flew open.

“What are you doing here?” hissed Enjolras. “Have you broken into my home? If you don’t leave immediately I will scream and then-“

“Tholomyes wishes to marry you, and you need to leave immediately.”

“You- what?”

“I have a horse for you. I know you said you do not know how to ride, but you can manage for a little, I suppose. If you go into town and ask for Louison, she will give you as much food and water as you want, no charge. Oh, and here is your book. I know it’s special to you.”

“Grantaire what-” Enjolras was flustered, confused, taking the book that Grantaire thrust in her hands. “How can I trust you? How do I know this isn’t a trick-“

“You can’t. I am a liar, and I am a hunter, and I am beyond forgiveness. But you… Tholomyes is well known to be a cruel man. And I know you don’t want to be married, besides.”

“Why are you doing this? What do you get out of it? Even if this is true, even if you are helping me now, how can I forgive you?”

“I am not asking that. I am simply asking you be happy. I have left the horse tied down by the servant’s entrance, you can see for yourself.”

“You are drunk.”

“A bit. I have also not slept in a very long time. But I am not lying, not right now.” She stared at Enjolras for a moment.

The girl had been crying. Her blue eyes were clouded and puffy, and her lips were chapped. She was in her nightshift, and her hair was mussed.

“I have hurt you,” she said suddenly. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me. But… for my own selfish sake, I want you to know I wasn’t lying when I said I believed in you. You can be something great, Enjolras, something that I will never be. Which is why you need to run, run far away. Before sunrise. Please. I have to go now, but please.”

“What are you- Why do you need to go? Even now, you don’t tell me anything!”

“I’m sorry. I know you hate me, but-”

“I don’t hate you! God, I wish I could hate you! I wish I could hate you with every fiber of my being, and then you couldn’t hurt me anymore!”

Suddenly, unbidden, Grantaire was blinking back tears. “…I understand,” she choked out. Then slowly, carefully, she reached out to take Enjolras’ hand, bringing it to her mouth and kissing it. Then she straightened up, squaring her shoulders and wiping away her tears. “Well. I have to go get myself beheaded now.”

_“What?”_

* * *

It was dark outside the manor, the moon hardly peaking through clouds, and Grantaire could just barely see the figure of Montparnasse, asleep against the cart, his shoulders rising and falling at a slow, steady pace.

What she was about to do was the stupidest thing she had ever done.

But. It was too late to turn back. She took another swig from her bottle of wine and steadied herself. At least she had convinced Enjolras to stay behind and pack whatever she may need to run away.

As quiet as she could, she crept up to the cart, pulling back the back curtain to look upon the beast for the first time since she had captured it.

It looked wretched. Blood caked the floor, more blood than it should have been able to produce, and its coat, once opalescent, was now dull, its eyes, open and gleaming still, sunken in.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, climbing into the cart, the curtain closing behind her. “I know you can not forgive me either, but I can make things right.”

A simple, easy plan. She would unchain the unicorn, let it escape, and then wait to be found out. If Montparnasse did not kill her herself, then Tholomyes would, or perhaps the Lord Enjolras, for releasing both their captives. It would be an honest death. Perhaps it would be the most honest thing she had ever done.

She crawled beside the beast, fumbling as carefully as she could with the chains in the dark when-

“Grantaire!”

Grantaire jumped at the nearly silent whisper, whirling around to see Enjolras, still in her nightgown, crawling into the wagon beside her.

“Enjolras, what-“

“I thought this was what you meant.”

“Enjolras,” hissed Grantaire, turning back to fumble with the chains. “You can’t be here, Montparnasse is outside-“

“You can’t keep me out of everything, Grantaire, you can’t keep me out of all danger-“

“Enjolras, you need to go-“

And then the curtain was being pulled back again, and there stood Montparnasse. Both Enjolras and Grantaire froze.

“I knew this would happen,” sighed Montparnasse, tiredly. “I knew you would do this.”

“Mont’…” Grantaire said, voice soft, instantly trying to placate, trying to delay what she knew was coming. “Mont’, we were already paid. It’s over.”

“That’s horse shit and you know it. What, were you just going to run away with the girl and the money and leave us to deal with the consequences? What lie did you tell her this time?”

“That’s not-“

“What do you think would have happened to us? You already got Bahorel hurt – would you have us lose our heads?”

“It’s not like that!” Grantaire shook her head. She couldn’t see straight anymore – she had been awake so long. “I will accept any consequences, as long as the beast and the girl are free!”

“Why are you such a fool Grantaire? Why would you throw your life away for this?”

“You don’t understand!”

“I don’t! You have worked so hard for this, Grantaire! We all have – why is this girl enough to make you throw it away?”

“It’s not… I have spent all my life believing I am sinner. For how I was born, for who I loved, for how I dressed, all of it. And now I think… That is not what makes me a sinner. Maybe I can be this, and be good. Maybe I can do the right thing for once.”

Montparnasse looked down.

“Don’t make me stop you,” he mumbled.

Grantaire felt herself smiling, and wondered if Montparnasse would hear it, if not see it. “I’m sorry, Montparnasse.”

She turned back to the chains, and then Montparnasse lunged into the cart.

She was fighting blind and dizzy, cramped in such a tight space, but she grabbed Montparnasse before he could grab her, and then pitched back, her back hitting the solid, warm mass of the unicorn as they struggled. She kicked out, hitting him squarely in the stomach hard enough to knock him back against the wall of the cart, and quick as she could she turned, grasping at the chains.

“No you don’t!” growled Montparnasse, and his hand grabbed the back of her collar for just a moment before he screamed.

“Ow! Ow! Get off me, bitch-“

Grantaire turned her head around, and saw the blurry figure of Enjolras, throwing her whole body against Montparnasse, scratching and biting wherever she could reach, her hair flying everywhere. Like a wild animal.

She struggled with the chains as fast as she could, and managed to get its head undone before Montparnasse threw Enjolras off of him as hard as he could and grabbed Grantaire by the hair, wrenching her back.

“I won’t let you do this, Grantaire!“ he was shouting. “I won’t let you ruin everything!”

“Eat shit, bastard!” she shouted back, before elbowing him in the face, throwing him back enough that she could go back to the chains, and then Enjolras was scrambling back over, throwing herself in between them.

The chains were loosening the more she worked at them, and it wouldn’t be long now-

Montparnasse shoved Enjolras out of the cart, and she screamed, hitting the ground hard and scrambling back in, but he had already turned back to Grantaire.

“Grantaire-“ he screamed – but it was too late.

The chains fell away, and slowly, slowly, the unicorn began pushing itself to its feet.

She had done it.

“Out of the cart,” she gasped as she stood and turned, winded. “Both of you, you need to run. I will stay here.”

“Grantaire…” gasped Enjolras, staring beyond her unicorn, at a lost for words as she followed her orders and crawled backwards out of the cart. “Grantaire…”

“I’m sorry, both of you.”

Montparnasse also pushed himself to his feet, also staring past her at the unicorn. “Grantaire… I can’t let you do this. I can’t let it get away. I can’t let you get away with this”

“You can, please, Mont’…”

“No. Grantaire, I’m sorry.” Then he pulled a dagger out and lunged forward and-

And then he stopped jerking back as quickly as he had lunged forward, stumbling all the way back out of the cart, falling to the ground, his dagger clattering to the ground, untouched, and Grantaire felt a pain bloom in her chest and then-

And then everything stopped.

Blinking, Grantaire looked down at herself, peering dully at the gleaming, moonstone horn, gored neatly through her chest.

She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but nothing but blood came out, and she just gasped, almost involuntary, and for some reason, reached up, grasping the horn that stuck out through her ribs.

Then her feet were leaving the ground as the unicorn lifted its head, she felt her body going limp and her vision went black and all she could think was-

_I hope Enjolras gets away._

She pitched forward, and the last thing she heard was a scream.

She didn’t feel herself hit the ground.


	6. The Sixth

This was the dream Grantaire had kept having, the one she could never remember when she awoke.

In her dream she was lying flat in a body of water, murky and thick, rushing over her, drowning her. She couldn’t breathe – and it was shallow enough that if she sat up she would be saved, but she couldn’t move. She was frozen.

And then, through the murky water, she saw a unicorn standing above her, glimmering white, its dark eyes staring down with her, and she wants to reach out to it- but can’t.

And then it leans down, and its horn touches the water, just a slight dip – and then the water cleared and air rushed into her lungs and she could breathe, she could breathe-

And then

 

she woke up.

* * *

Grantaire shot up, sucking in desperate, rattling breaths, air pumping into her lungs, sweat dripping down her forehead.

“Grantaire!” cried a voice, and blinking, clearing darkness from her vision, she turned her head – and there was Éponine sitting next to her, at her bedside. Her bedside? She was back at the inn, she realized.

“Éponine?” she asked, and her voice was barely more then a cracked whisper – zounds, her throat was dry. “Am I- Am I dead?”

“Clearly not! Christ Grantaire I was so, here, have some water. It was hard getting you to swallow while you were unconscious.”

“Unconscious?” she croaked, taking the tin cup Éponine was offering her, drinking from it deeply. When it was drained, she let out a heavy breath, handing it back to Éponine. Then she said: “The unicorn stabbed me.”

“It did.”

“But I’m alive? How-“ Then, a more important thought entered her head. “Where- Where is Enjolras? What happened, did Tholomyes-“

“Enjolras is in hiding now. She’s officially a criminal.”

“What?”

Eponine sat back heavy in her chair. “I suppose I should fill you in. You were unconscious for three days after all.”

“Three days?”

“You gave us all quite fright. Especially that girl of yours. She wouldn’t let go of you for hours, even when it became very clear you weren’t going to die. Just held your limp body and cried.”

“I don’t understand.” Grantaire furrowed her brow. “Why didn’t I die?”

“We are as baffled as you, but… take a look at your chest.”

“What?”

“Where you were gored. Look at it.”

So Grantaire pulled at the front of her shirt, peering down it and-

Oh.

Just to the left of her sternum, creeping up slightly onto her breast, there was a scar, puckering the skin. A scar, after three days, but more then that. It looked _pearlized_ , like- 

Like gemstones were growing where her skin had once been.

“That is… something, isn’t it.”

“No one knows that to make of it. By the time we, that is, Jehan and I, arrived you had stopped bleeding entirely. In a day you were beginning to heal, and my the second... that was happening. It hardly seems dangerous, but no one knows what to make of it, and you just wouldn't wake up but... Well, you're awake now. And that is enough.”

"How did you even find me?" 

“Montparnasse got us. He… Seemed guilty, I suppose.” She cleared her throat. “Bahorel couldn’t come, but he’s been kept in the loop. Bloody jealous of you – keeps asking why all unicorn inflicted wounds don’t heal like that.”

“And Enjolras, she-“

“Officially,” said Éponine, rolling her shoulders. “She was the one who freed the unicorn. She freed it, you and Montparnasse tried to stop her, and you got gored in the process, and in the chaos both her and the unicorn got away. It was her idea; kept you from getting tried as a thief and got her out of the marriage. Montparnasse even ended up having some of his reward taken away – but my father talked Tholomyes out of taking away all of it. He’s good for something I guess.”

“Why… Why would she-“

_Why would she take the fall for me, take the time to clear my name? Why didn't she just leave? Why did she weep?_

“I think its best you ask her yourself.”

“What? Is she here, where is she-“

“Hush Grantaire! You need to rest still.”

“But Enjolras-“

“Will be in the same place when you are better. Now rest.”

Grantaire laid down, but didn't sleep. Instead, she clutched her chest and thought of Enjolras.

* * *

Montparnasse left that night, without saying anything to Grantaire. 

Jehan came to her room and said that he had seemed confused, distressed, ever since she had nearly died. 

Like he was questioning, well, everything.

Grantaire knew what that was like, so she didn't mind.

* * *

In three days time, Grantaire was back in the clearing in the forest, where the cart was now residing. It was not as beautiful as it once was. Much of the grass was charred, and there were still arrows sticking out of the ground. She could find it now, even. 

Like the magic no longer needed to keep it hidden.

Despite it all though, she still saw a few flowers poking out of the debris.

“Hello,” she called out, and then the curtain of the cart was pulled open – and there she stood. There was Enjolras.

“Grantaire,” she whispered, awed sounding. “You… You came to see me?”

“Wanted to see the outlaw herself.”

“Ah, that-“

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” she said, seriously. “I was… I was trying to do the right thing. I was trying to make things right, not have someone else take the fall for me.”

“I know,” said Enjolras, before sitting down on the back of the cart. “Come sit with me.”

Grantaire did.

There was silence for a long time, then Grantaire spoke.

"Bahorel tells me they have been sneaking you food out here."

"They have. Sometimes they talk to me too. Everyone gave me updates on how you were doing. When Jehan told you had woken up and I wanted to... But, of course, I couldn't."

"I understand. Have they told you about my new scar?"

"They have mentioned it."

"Bloody weird thing. It feels like any other scar, when I touch it with my fingers, but it looks so... different. Jehan thinks maybe I was gored on accident, when Montparnasse lunched at me, so the unicorn healed me, and that's why it left a scar like... that. I wonder if it was some kind of... I don't know, but I kept having these dreams, and… Éponine wants her friend Cosette – I don’t know who that is, but apparently she is the one who told her about you, to look at me. Says she knows a little magic and might be able to recognize it, see if it's doing anything to me. I don’t know though. I don't know if I want someone poking around at me. Maybe its not healthy, but I think I would rather just pretend its not happening.”

Enjolras nodded, then brought her knee up to her chest, resting her face on it. “Whatever it is, I’m glad you’re alive," she mumbled, half into the fabric of her dress.

Grantaire snorted. “I don’t see why.”

The girl looked away, and her voice was taught. “I told you I didn’t hate you Grantaire.”

“I know. And I told you I wasn’t asking for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it.”

“I haven’t forgiven you. But I don’t hate you either.”

“Ah.” Another silence. Then, “So what do you want to do? I don’t imagine you want to live out of our cart forever, with my friends bringing you food.”

“I… I don’t know. I have longed all my life for freedom, and now I have to say I don’t know what to do with it. I could learn to hunt rabbits I suppose, but I doubt I will ever be as good as you. And what about you?”

Grantaire laughed a little. “I don’t know either. You… I never thought I could be anything more than what I was. But when you said those things about me, said I was kind and noble… I wanted to be those things. I wanted them to be true. And I don’t want to work with Jondrette anymore. But… There is not much else I know to do, I suppose.”

“So neither of us are sure, I guess.”

“That is how it seems.”

The silence that followed was long. Grantaire just closed her eyes, and let the wind blow through her hair.

Eventually, Enjolras spoke.

“Grantaire, I… I was so scared when I thought you would die. I… I care about you. And I haven’t forgiven you for, for lying to me for so long. But I… I do think. You have more capacity for goodness then you let on. And I think, maybe, one day, I could forgive you.”

Slowly, Grantaire nodded.

“What do we do know then?” she asked.

“’We?’”

“I mean-“

“No. No. ‘We’ is alright, for now.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Then Enjolras reached out, and took Grantaire’s hand in her own.

“Your spotted friend, Jehan,” Enjolras said after a while. “When he brought me food, sometimes he would talk to me. He said you don’t just hunt for menageries. Sometimes you kill dangerous beasts, sometimes you save people.”

“Terrible work. Greater risk and far less reward.”

“It is noble. It’s helping people.”

“You don’t even know how to hunt.”

“You could teach me. I’ll even start wearing trousers. I don’t know if I’ll cut my hair though.”

Grantaire burst out laughing, and so did Enjolras.

And Grantaire- she was unsure. She was still unsure if she was good enough for Enjolras, unsure why or how the unicorn had spared her, unsure why her scar sparkled like jewels, unsure if she wanted to keep being a hunter, unsure if a week from now Enjolras would still want to be around her, unsure of where they could even go from here.

But Enjolras held her hand, and Enjolras laughed, and smiled, and it made her chest, scar and all, feel warm.

So it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG END OF STORY NOTE ROUND UP
> 
> -This is the longest fic I have ever completed. There is a reason I don't normally write fic this long, this really pushed my comfort zone. Thank you for getting this far with me.  
> -Please check out inkmission's [excellent art](http://inkmission.tumblr.com/post/145673621911/here-is-my-art-for-hyenateeths-lovely-medieval) of the designs of Enjolras, Grantaire and Jehan in this fic!  
> -Why am I posting this last chapter so late? Cause I totally rewrote it just now. It is very hard to sum up something your lead character is unconscious for without randomly switching POVs. I might write an add on eventually. Also I ended up making it way more open ended which... I don't know.  
> \- the title is actually from a bible verse from Psalm 22 (King James Version only)  
> -another shout out to my girlfriend, labellelunaclaire, for editing these for me.  
> -if you have any questions or just wanna chat, feel free to hit me up on my [Tumblr](http://hyenateeth.tumblr.com)  
> -Thank you again for reading!


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